


Paradox

by VictorVictoria32



Series: Paradox [1]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Bad Parenting, Child Neglect, Discussion of Depression, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Gen, Magic, Manipulation, Mystery, Other: See Story Notes, Reference to Past Suicide, Suspense, discussion of suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:42:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 53,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28841088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictorVictoria32/pseuds/VictorVictoria32
Summary: Cassandra Fisher is strange indeed. She's human, but has magic. She doesn't believe in spirits, but can still see them. How did this happen? WHY did it happen?  She isn't the only one who wants to know.
Series: Paradox [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2114799
Kudos: 4





	1. Troubles

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously I do not own "Rise of the Guardians", I just take the characters out to play.
> 
> As this fic is a mystery, I cannot put all the proper warnings into the tags without spoiling. If you really wish to know what they are, proceed to the end note. Skip the end note if you don't want spoilers.
> 
> Also note that I've not read the books. At all. It's been pointed out to me on FanFiction (where story was originally posted back in 2016-2017) that there are some similarities in a very specific regard (you'll find out what it is). I assure you it is completely coincidental.
> 
> Not beta'd.
> 
> Enjoy.

“No, mom no!”

“Where the hell did you even _get_ all these?!”

“STOP MOM! THEY’RE MINE!”

“They _can’t_ be all yours! Just look at them all!”

Of course they weren’t all hers. No child had that many teeth. Somewhere deep down, six-year-old Cassandra knew that hoarding teeth like that was weird, but she just couldn’t help it. It wasn’t something she chose to do or really even _wanted_ to do. It was instinct, pure and simple, an impulse she hadn’t been able to deny no matter how hard she’d tried. Her mother had no idea how hard she’d fought the urges before finally giving in, nor how incredibly stressful and time-consuming it had been to steal them all. They’d been pilfered from backpacks at school, where the nurse sealed them up in little envelopes for safekeeping, or lifted from pockets or taken right out from under kids’ pillows while the unsuspecting owners slept. For months she’d kept them carefully hidden in the back of the unused living room fireplace, but somehow her mother had stumbled upon them.

In her anger, Ms. Fisher shook the little plastic baggies, causing the teeth to rattle. Cassandra leapt and snatched at them, desperate to take them back, but her mother held them just out of reach. They were so tantalizingly close, Cassandra found herself shrieking in frustration and desperation.

“They’re MINE!”

“NO THEY’RE NOT!” her mother screamed back. While one hand dangled the baggies of teeth over her daughter’s head, the other continued to dig around in the back of the fireplace for any more that might be hidden. “What the hell is wrong with you?! Why do you even have these?! It’s disgusting!”

Sobbing hysterically, little Cassandra scratched and punched at her mother, struggling fruitlessly to retrieve the teeth. Satisfied that the fireplace was now empty of plastic baggies—and, more importantly, teeth of unknown origins—Ms. Fisher straightened up, pushed her daughter aside, and marched towards her bedroom. Cassandra just screamed even louder. She jumped up to attack her mother again, only to be roughly shoved away once more.

“Stop screaming!” her mother hollered. She was red-faced with fury. “Just look at yourself! You’re acting like an animal!”

“GIVE THEM BACK!”

“NO! And I won’t hear any more about it!”

The bedroom door slammed shut and the lock clicked into place. Trapped out in the hall, Cassandra pounded and kicked and screamed for several long minutes before reluctantly giving up. Knowing her mother as she did, she knew the woman wouldn’t come out until dinnertime, if she came out at all. Most times when they fought, Ms. Fisher didn’t reemerge until the following morning, sequestering herself with the T.V. and computer until the alarm clock reminded her that her daughter had to get ready for school. Weekdays for her mother meant eight hours of peace and quiet, otherwise she probably wouldn’t _ever_ come out of that stupid room.

Giving the door one final, frustrated kick, Cassanda stalked back to her own bedroom and slammed the door. Panting, her throat sore from screaming, she raked her fingers through her hair in pure frustration. Then she grinned wickedly.

Her mother could lock her out, but she couldn’t impede her daughter indefinitely. For all her faults, Cassandra Fisher was an extremely patient child…something else she knew was considered highly unusual in children her age. She had no problem waiting through the long, silent hours until her mother took her evening shower. She even went into the kitchen and fixed herself a bowl of cold cereal when, as she’d suspected, Ms. Fisher failed to come out for dinner. She was more than used to fending for herself, though leaving that splatter of milk on the floor was probably uncalled for. But she left it anyway. It matched the pigsty that was the rest of the kitchen.

After her cereal, Cassandra climbed into bed. Brown eyes fixed unblinkingly upon the ceiling as she waited…and waited…and waited…until, at long last, she heard the tell-tale sound of water flowing through the pipes. A faint smirk touched her mouth, exposing the depth of her smug satisfaction. Hopping out of bed, she abandoned the faint ribbon of moonlight gathering on the covers in favor of the dark shadows in the far corner.

She still wasn’t very good at this sort of thing yet, but she could get around the house well enough thanks to a _lot_ of practice. In times like these, when her mother was being wholly unreasonable, she was infinitely grateful that she could manage it at all. Closing her eyes tight, Cassandra concentrated with all her might and sank into the shadows. For a brief moment of time she felt bodiless, weightless, completely and utterly free. But then she opened her eyes again and found herself looking out into her mother’s room. The only light available filtered through the half-closed bathroom door, giving the room an eerie half-glow. But Cassandra didn’t mind. She much preferred the darkness, and always had. Darkness was quiet and still, it made her feel warm and safe and happy.

Nothing bad ever happened to her at night, quite unlike during the day.

Her tooth collection was in the garbage, where she knew it would be. Cassandra’s grin went unseen as she still possessed no physical body. A long shadow spread across the bedroom floor, one that strongly resembled a disembodied arm. A hand soon appeared at the end of that arm, dark fingers reaching into the garbage bin to pluck out the baggies of treasured teeth. The shadow quickly retracted, and with a bit of effort Cassandra reappeared, fully-formed, in her bedroom, clutching the tooth collection to her chest.

Success! Now for the hard part…

Hurrying to the window, she pushed it open, climbed up onto the sill, and jumped down to the ground. It was early December, and the snow bank reached her knees, but neither of these facts bothered her one bit. Her immunity to the cold was just one of the many strange, inexplicable things about her that she simply enjoyed to the fullest possible extent. Raising her hand and gathering her power, she called upon the wind. All of a sudden, she felt feather-light (a whole different sensation from the out-of-body weightlessness she experienced whenever she disappeared into shadow) as the wind obliged in lifting her skyward. Flying higher and higher, she had to suppress the urge to whoop with glee. She relished in flight (it was the one thing that could rival her love of the dark), and tonight was perfect for it! Cloudless starry skies, just the right bite of cold, and a shimmering silver half-moon to guide her way.

But out of all her powers, flight was by far the most dangerous, for unlike the others she could only utilize it if she were out in the open. And that, of course, was always a risk. Being careful was the only reason she’d made it this far without being discovered, and even now, as she soared over snow-covered rooftops, she kept well above any windows or streetlamps just in case somebody happened to glance outside. As much as she adored the freedoms given to her by her magic, even at her young age she knew better than to flaunt them. It was bad enough her mother and everyone else treated her like a freak (though her teachers often categorized her under the more acceptable adjective “quirky”); the last thing she wanted was to see their reaction if they discovered even the half of what she was capable of.

Gritting her teeth, Cassandra urged the wind to take her faster. She soared over the St. Lawrence River, on a direct course to one of the many islands that dotted the boundary between the northeastern U.S. and Canada. Here she could relax a little. This late in the year, she knew there would be hardly anyone around. Most of these homes were seasonal, after all, possessing dark, empty windows and locked doors. No boats were buoyed to the docks, beaches lay abandoned until summer, and the edges of the river were tinged with a thin coating of brittle white ice. As long as she didn’t get too reckless, she should be able to make it across the open expanse of sky and water without being detected.

The island she needed was closer to the Canadian side, and uninhabited. Trees grew thick there, but when Cassandra landed in the midst of them it took only a moment for her to find the right one. Having been here numerous times before, she knew the island like the back of her hand. Besides, she could see in the dark just as well as she could in daylight, so the lack of illumination didn’t bother her in the slightest. The moon and stars were more than enough. She reached down into a large knothole near the foot of the tree and pulled out a small metal box. Inside were all her treasures, pathetic little trinkets most would disregard as trash but Cassandra kept them, anyway, because there were meaningful memories in each and every one. She tucked the baggies of teeth amongst them and carefully returned the box to its hiding place.

Just as she was about to summon the wind to lift her skyward again, her keen ears picked up on something. She paused, listening. Then she tilted her face skyward to sniff at the air, grimacing as the distinctive smell of fuel and dirty metal hit her nose. It was a ship, likely a large container vessel. Cassandra leapt lightly up the tree to get a look, and stifled a groan. The loaded ship was passing fairly close to her island as it headed up the river towards the Great Lakes. Watching it slowly motor along, she pondered over her options. As dark as it was, she could probably get away with flying home again, but after a bit more consideration she decided against it. She simply couldn’t risk detection. It was one thing to be called a freak, but to actually be caught doing something that should been completely impossible for humans wasn’t something she could just explain away.

_Better safe than sorry._

Forgoing her flight plans, she instead dropped to the ground and jabbed her heel into the partially-frozen earth. A small symmetrical hole opened, revealing a dark tunnel, and she jumped inside without hesitation. A wide grin spread across her face as she slid along, quickly gathering speed, before the tunnel eventually leveled out and she glided to a stop. Brushing dirt off her pajama bottoms, Cassandra got to her feet and started to jog. This was the part she hated, so thankfully it didn’t take too long. In just a few minutes she was hoisting herself up over the lip of another hole and into her room. As soon as she was out, the opening closed up without a trace of ever being there, not even a single speck of dirt on the floorboards.

Flushed with exhaustion and triumph, she collapsed onto her bed. With a contented sigh, Cassandra turned over onto her side and pulled the blankets up over her shoulders, tucking the edges under her chin. With a practiced twirl of the wrist, she summoned the yellow sand that helped her sleep and flicked through the different images, trying to decide what she wanted to dream about tonight. In the end, she settled on a flying dream, which she sent over her own head with a careless flick. As soon as the first golden grains touched her hair, she was sound sleep, and dreamed of nothing the entire night but soaring across beautiful starry skies.

Unbeknownst to little Cassandra Fisher, slumbering peacefully in her bed, her precautions that night failed to prevent discovery. No sooner had she fallen asleep, a pair of large golden eyes appeared in the corner of her room. Simmering in the dark, those eyes were soon accompanied by a wide, leering smile full of sharp, crooked teeth.

* * *

Five years later, eleven-year-old Cassandra climbed the steps onto the bus that would deliver her to the hell that everyone else called school. She took her seat, which was directly behind the driver and, conspicuously, the only one on the entire vehicle that wasn’t occupied by at least two children. The school had ordered it to be that way in the hopes of sparing themselves anymore headaches, but nevertheless Cassandra Fisher endured more than fifteen minutes of snarky remarks, jeering whispers, snickering, and more than a few projectiles. Paper clips and paper wads were favorites this year, but bits of broken eraser, pen caps, and even chewed up gum were common enough assailants that she could identify them purely by the sound they made when they hit the back of her coat. She kept her hood up, her head down and her mouth shut, enduring the harassment in gloomy silence. She occupied herself by watching the world go by and wishing she was literally anywhere else.

School was just a repeat of the bus ride, only on a much larger scale. Now the kids were competing with one another, seeing who could get away with the most outrageous attacks without getting caught by the teacher. Toby Allensworth, in particular, was on a campaign that Tuesday morning. He seemed determined to waste his entire notebook on spit-wads, which he shot across the room using a strategically disassembled pen. By mid-morning Cassandra was surrounded by fallen bits of paper, which the teacher inevitably noticed. He gave her a verbal lashing over being a slob and wasting ‘valuable resources’ before ordering her to clean up the mess.

She endured the entire lecture without saying a word, and picked up the disgusting bits as she was told, but let the man know through her dark, brooding stare that she really didn’t give a damn what he had to say. Cassandra Fisher didn’t keep her mouth shut because she was a doormat, as most people thought. No, she kept her mouth shut because she knew if she got riled up, she would do something stupid, and the last thing she needed was to give her mother another excuse to scream at her.

By lunchtime, though, the harassment was beyond unbearable. Toby Allensworth and his friends purposefully chose the table directly behind hers, as always, so they could continue to assault and berate her. Most of the boys at the table took a couple of shots at her with their straws before busying themselves with their food, but fat-faced Toby just wouldn’t let up. Cassandra tried to eat her chicken noodle soup in peace, but the constant puffing of wet paper-wads hitting the back of her coat was driving her insane. Her expression remained a well-practiced blank, but inside she was seething. Were the cafeteria monitors blind? There were three of them standing right there!

One of them finally made their way over, but instead of telling off the table of rowdy boys she grabbed the back of Cassandra’s coat hood to unceremoniously yank it down.

“No head coverings in school,” she barked without even stopping.

The boys at the other table—who halted their antics the moment the monitor came by—grinned and cackled and slapped each other on the back, proud of their cleverness. Cassandra felt her anger boiling up, threatening to burst right out of her. It wasn’t fair! And when yet another spit-wad struck right behind her ear, she’d finally had enough.

Rising smoothly, Cassandra picked up her tray and walked casually towards the garbage bins at the back of the cafeteria. This path took her right past the boys’ table, and she stopped next to Toby. He looked up at her with a smug smirk. When she didn’t move or speak, he taunted her by saying, “What is it, Fisher? Got something to say to me?”

For a moment she said nothing, did nothing except to stare silently down at him with a completely unreadable expression on her face. Then she smoothly upended her tray and dumped chicken noodle soup all over him.

Toby Allensworth howled as the hot food scorched him. While he jumped about flapping his arms like a startled chicken, his best friend, Anthony Tompkins leapt out of his seat to defend him.

“The hell was that for Fisher?!” he shouted. Hands came up to shove at Cassandra, but she didn’t even flinch. Cool as ice, she took the now empty lunch tray in both hands and slammed the bottom of it right into his face.

Lips smashed against teeth, blood flowed freely, and Anthony Tompkins joined his friend in anguished shouting. Cassandra just stood there watching them, until a hand grasped her hard around the collar and dragged her away towards the principal’s office.

* * *

The driver’s side door of the Fishers’ green sedan slammed shut, and for a long moment Ms. Fisher sat there without moving. Every breath she took was audible in the heavy silence, but Cassandra didn’t really care. Her mother was always upset about something, so she knew perfectly well what to expect.

“The fuck Sandra,” she finally hissed. Lifting her ass off the seat to dig into the back pocket of her jeans, she pulled out a box of smokes and lit one with a lighter from the cup holder. Exhaling gray smoke on a sharp breath, she repeated more quietly but with just as much vehemence, “The fuck, Sandra. The hell did you do that for?”

“They wouldn’t leave me alone,” she offered weakly, knowing it wouldn’t do any good.

It didn’t.

“Fuck,” her mom cursed, taking another long drag. The windows were all closed, and Cassandra felt like she was about to puke from the noxious smell. She didn’t dare mention the fact that smoking was forbidden on school property and that they were still parked right outside the front doors.

The two of them sat in stony silence while Ms. Fisher finished her cigarette. Once the stub was stamped out in the ashtray, the woman turned the key in the ignition, threw the car into gear, and sped out of the parking lot, completely disregarding the fifteen-mile-per-hour speed signs.

Later that night, as she headed back to her room after yet another dinner of cold cereal, Cassandra passed by the living room and overheard her mother talking on the phone.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass if you don’t have room. Make room! I don’t want her here anymore!”

Even though her stomach felt cold, she paused in the dark hallway to listen.

“I really don’t give a fuck what that bitch Carol thinks! I’ve put up with this shit for eleven fucking years and I’m sick of it! I’m sick of it Randy! If you don’t take her I’m gonna dump her in foster care, see if I don’t! See if I don’t, I’m dead fucking serious!”

Swallowing thickly, Cassandra returned to her room and closed the door. Climbing into bed, she pulled up the covers and lay there for what felt like hours, wondering at the sudden numbness in her body. She knew she ought to think about what was happening, but her mind was an imposing blank right now, making coherent thought impossible.

Drawing a deep breath, Cassandra closed her eyes, concentrated hard, and allowed her body to sink into darkness. Shadow immediately surrounded her, pressed against her body like a warm, comforting embrace, and she let out a long sigh of contentment. This was her sanctuary, her own private retreat. It was quiet, peaceful. It was empty and safe and, best of all, completely free of her mother’s toxic presence.

This was the only place she’d ever felt truly at home.

Cassandra floated in that dark, peaceful expanse, drowsing happily for quite some time. Then the tranquil bliss was interrupted by something she’d never experienced before: A hand grabbing hold of her ankle. With a gasp, she bolted upright, only to slam her head into something hard. Rubbing the growing lump on her forehead, she peered up through the gloom and realized she’d somehow ended up under her bed.

Huh. That had never happened before.

Then again…she’d never felt anyone else inside that shadow-place before either.

She pondered over that, wondering just how in the hell someone else could’ve gotten into what she’d assumed (up to that point at least) to be a place only _she_ could access. She knew she hadn’t imagined that firm grip, but she just couldn’t figure out how it was possible, either.

Deciding it was a mystery she could always worry about in the morning, Cassandra carefully eased herself out from under the bed. It was a tight fit. Glancing at the alarm clock on her nightstand, she startled to see that it was already 3 a.m. It had only been half-past six when she’d shut her eyes. How could that much time have passed without her realizing? It certainly hadn’t felt like that much time had passed.

But then again, she supposed time had a nasty habit of speeding up whenever you were doing something you liked.

The rest of the night progressed just as swiftly, thanks in large to a pleasant dream of baby tortoises. Before she knew it, her mother was shaking her awake.

“Wake up,” she barked, and the moment Cassandra’s eyes opened an empty duffel bag was dropped onto her chest. “Take that and pack.”

“What for?” she asked, though she already suspected the answer.

“You’re going to your dad’s. Now hurry up. The bus leaves in an hour.”

Forty-five minutes later, Cassandra boarded a bus with her half-filled duffle bag. In the end she’d only had about ten minutes to dress and get packed, as the bus station was more than thirty minutes from their house (even with her mother’s driving), but she really wasn’t sorry to leave so much behind. Everything she was really attached to was safely stored away on the island, which she could always retrieve later on via her tunnels. Once she got to her dad’s place, the St. Lawrence would be much too far away for her to possibly risk flying there, but sometime when he was out on a date or something she could run the tunnels without him ever knowing she was gone. Then she could hide the memory box amongst her things until she found another safe place to put it, one that wasn’t a long, long jog from her new home.

Cassandra wasted the day drowsing, listening to her iPod, and staring out the window. When she finally arrived in Burgess, it was late in the evening. She’d figured nobody would be there to pick her up, and they weren’t, so she wound up walking the four blocks to her dad’s house. As she walked, she thought about how glad was she wasn’t bothered by snow or ice. Burgess was covered in an even thicker layer of white than her mother’s house had been, and the wind here had an extra sharp bite to it. Had she not been immune, she imagined the trip would’ve been unbearable.

Climbing the three cement steps that led to her dad’s half of the blue-sided duplex, she rang the doorbell. A very ugly brunette answered. Cassandra scowled at her. Her dad had only been dating this broad for a few seconds and already she was hugely pregnant, her swollen belly jutting out right into her face. She actually had to take half a step back to avoid getting poked in the eye by the woman’s hideously protruding belly button.

“You’re Cassy?” the woman asked with a sneer.

“Disappointed?” Cassandra replied icily, but the woman didn’t even seem to hear her as she was already yelling into the house.

“Randy! Randy your daughter’s here!”

Her dad shouted something unintelligible from inside the house, and Carol turned back to Cassandra with a false smile plastered onto her mouth.

“We don’t have a room for you ’cause of the nursery, so you’re gonna take the couch.”

“Fine.”

The corner of Carol’s mouth twitched almost imperceptibly, as if she’d been waiting for (and, in fact, had been _hoping_ for) some sort of complaint or argument. Cassandra was excellent at reading people, and knew the woman was disappointed her first attempt to bait her boyfriend’s daughter had failed.

Thankfully she was spared any more catty remarks due to the sudden appearance of her dad. He looked just as unshaven and disheveled as the last time she’d seen him, which had been almost ten years ago. His tattered jeans were too big in the waist, so they sagged around his ass, and his hoodie was stained with grease and oil. She took the latter as a sign that, if nothing else, her dad was still employed at the auto maintenance place across town.

“Hey, kid,” he said to her. “Come on in.”

His tone wasn’t overly friendly, but wasn’t entirely dismissive, either. It almost sounded to Cassandra like he was talking to an acquaintance rather than his own child. Such was confirmed to her when he stepped back to hold the door open but made no move to take her bag. Catching the hint of a smirk toying with the corners of Carol’s mouth, Cassandra realized the only thing the move had accomplished was exchange one private hell for a different one.

_This is gonna suck._

* * *

After a hot shower and a somewhat-decent meal of leftover goulash, Cassandra settled herself down on the living room sofa for the night. It stank of sweat and was covered in brown dog hair, though she had yet to see a dog anywhere. Carefully arranging a sheet over the cushions, she lay down and pulled the dark blue throw over herself. It was extremely uncomfortable, and she shuddered to think what sort of unspeakable things had happened right where her face was located.

Pulling a face, Cassandra rolled over, trying hard to ignore the murmur of her dad’s and Carol’s voices from back in the kitchen. For nearly an hour, she tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable and straining to hear if any of the muted conversation was about her. She wasn’t altogether sure if she was happy or disappointed when none of it was.

Rolling over once more, she happened to glance out the window and sat bolt upright. She stared for a moment, hardly able to believe it. Then she leapt to her feet and darted across the room to press her face right up against the cold glass.

Her eyes weren’t deceiving her. Streams of golden sand were gliding through the sky, meandering between houses and seeping through windows.

_How? How is that possible?!_

Completely disregarding every self-imposed safety precaution in the wake of this incredible development, Cassandra eagerly pushed open the window and flew up to the roof. She walked right to the edge, staring wide-eyed at the dozens upon dozens of yellow tendrils snaking their way through town. As one happened to wind its way past her, she reached out to touch it, gathering some of the sand into her palm. Then she used her left hand to create some of her own, and compared the two piles.

To her shock, they looked exactly the same.

Casting aside her own sand with a careless flick of the wrist, Cassandra Fisher tried her hand at shaping an image utilizing this new material. Her eyes widened further still when an eagle effortlessly appeared and flew away into the darkness.

It didn’t just look like the same sand…it _was_ the same sand!

_Who on earth is doing this?_

She had to know.

Aided by the wind, Cassandra skipped lightly from rooftop to rooftop, tracking one of the sand streams back towards the source. Further and further she went, and as the buildings below her feet became fewer and further between, it dawned on her that the one responsible for this impressive feat may very well be located beyond the boundaries of Burgess.

Sure enough, she slid to a stop on the very last snow-covered roof, panting lightly and grimacing in defeat. The streams of sand were all converging on some place far, far out in the distance, and with no indication as to where precisely this magical person was located, she knew she couldn’t risk going any further tonight. There was no telling if or when her dad or Carol might notice she was gone, and getting caught sneaking out of the house on the very first night would most assuredly get her thrown into foster care.

Best not push it.

Deeply disappointed, Cassandra returned home. She crawled through the window and was just sitting down on the couch again when Carol walked in. The woman’s eyes narrowed as Cassandra feigned getting up instead of lying down.

“What are you doing?” she asked suspiciously.

“Bathroom.”

“Uh huh.”

She obviously didn’t believe it, but Cassandra really didn’t care. She brushed past the huge woman and went straight for the bathroom, locking herself inside. She didn’t really have to go, but knew her dad’s girlfriend was sick enough in the head to probably stand outside the door and listen. So she took care of business, making far more racket than otherwise necessary just to make sure the insufferable woman knew she was on to her.

When she pulled the bathroom door open a few minutes later, there was Carol standing in the hallway, rubbing circles on her hideously swollen belly.

“What?” Cassandra asked stonily.

“Randy’s right,” Carol replied with a condescending smile. “You’re really weird."

“Least I don’t stand outside the bathroom listening to people.”

The smirk collapsed into a scowl, but just as Carol opened her mouth to retort, her boyfriend arrived.

“Hey, ready for bed?” he asked, and Carol made a show of putting her arm around him and kissing his unshaven cheek.

“Of course love,” she cooed. Cassandra felt sick watching it.

“Night Cassy,” her dad called as he retreated to the master bedroom with his simpering girlfriend still hanging all over him.

“Night,” Cassandra muttered.

Figures. Her dad called her Cassy and her mom called her Sandra, even though she hated both nicknames.

Back in the living room, Cassandra threw herself onto the couch and yanked the blanket up over her head. Sullen thoughts paraded through her mind, though they did nothing to dampen her curiosity over the unexpected appearance of the golden sand streams. Drawing back the blanket just a bit, she stared out the window at the lazy yellow ribbons. It sucked she couldn’t solve the mystery tonight. Whoever it was out there controlling that sand, they may very well be able to answer her countless questions. Why did she have magic? Why were her powers all so different? How come she hadn’t met anyone else with magic until tonight? (Well…she hadn’t actually met anyone yet, but at least now she knew there _were_ others out there with similar powers...)

Heaving a sigh, Cassandra pulled the throw blanket up again and shut her eyes. As busy as her mind was with thoughts about magic, the mysterious person controlling the sand, moving homes and schools, and Carol’s attitude, she wondered for a bit if she was ever going to get to sleep. However, she was exhausted from the long bus ride and subsequent race across rooftops. So even without the assistance of her own yellow dream sand, she eventually succeeded in drifting off.

* * *

It felt like she was dreaming, yet it couldn’t be a dream. It was so just so…different from every dream she’d ever experienced. Dreams were normally bright and cheery, filled with wistful, innocent characters or peaceful scenery.

This was the complete opposite of that.

Standing in that vast blackened space, Cassandra was very aware of just how thick and smothering the atmosphere was. Normally darkness was comforting to her, warm and gentle and welcoming, but the darkness surrounding her now was eerie and threatening. Not only was it betraying her by concealing the chattering, clattering, hissing and whickering creatures that stalked just out of sight, but it bore a weight wholly unfamiliar to her, as if she would be crushed into pulp and devoured by it if she happened to let her guard down.

A nightmare. She was certain of it. Weird, how she would experience her very first one on the same night she discovered that somebody else out there possessed similar magical powers.

_Coincidence? I think not._

Cassandra wasn’t afraid (she knew nothing could hurt her in a nightmare), but her strong inborn sense of caution prompted her to remain rod-straight and unblinking. Blank-faced, she studied the darkness for glimpses of the mysterious creatures. She saw a few legs, and what she was fairly certain was a tail, before eyes—golden, narrowed, gleaming eyes—started to open all around her. A low, rumbling growl resounded in her sensitive ears, growing louder and louder with each passing moment, but even then Cassandra stubbornly refused to flinch. A few seconds later, a massive black monster shot out of the dark, frothing jaws opened wide to snatch and shred with jagged teeth.

Yet even that hideous beast couldn’t budge eleven-year-old Cassandra Fisher. Rather than run screaming, or cowering in terror, the stone-faced girl slashed the air with her hand and shouted in as commanding a voice as she could muster, “Enough!”

As if struck by a powerful blow, the beast split in two. It crumbled into black dust and subsequently swallowed up by the very darkness that had borne it.

Almost immediately afterwards the chuckling began.

“So you can control nightmares too. How intriguing.”

A figure emerged from the darkness. It looked like a man, but there was no way he could be human. Tall and thin, with gray skin and golden eyes that gleamed bright in the darkness, he wore long black robes that matched the color of his slicked-back hair. As he began to slowly pace circles around Cassandra, an arrogant smirk played across his face, revealing sharp teeth.

“I must say, I find this so incredibly exciting.” His voice was smooth and confident, incredibly charismatic, and bore the faintest echoes of an accent. Studying him, however, revealed nothing to Cassandra as to where he may have come from. “A human with magic is strange enough on its own, but…you don’t have just any sort of magic, do you?”

He moved closer, each movement so incredibly smooth he almost seemed to glide towards her. Cassandra stood firm, and within moments the strange man-creature was looming over her.

“Hmm,” he mused, eyeing her up and down. “You don’t believe in the Guardians, I see. That’s always a plus.” Then a slight frown drew his brows together as he continued, “You are not afraid, either. How is it that you can see me if you do not fear or believe?”

“You’re standing right there,” Cassandra replied evenly. “How can I not see you?”

For a heartbeat of time, he stared at her. A flicker of some indiscernible emotion flashed across his face before the smirk returned, accompanied this time by the deep, throaty echoes of an amused chuckle. “Indeed. How can you not.” He straightened to his full height. “Tell me your name, child.”

“Isn’t it common courtesy to introduce yourself first?”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she worried she’d unintentionally aggravated or insulted him, but instead the strange gray man chuckled again.

“Why yes. Yes it is. It has been so long since my last genteel conversation, I admit that I completely forgot.” He inclined his head towards her, though his penetrating stare never left her face. “I am Pitch Black, the Nightmare King, though many refer to me simply as the Boogeyman.”

“Boogeyman?”

“You have not heard of me?”

“Of course I have. I was two once.”

He scowled at her. “You have a sharp tongue.” Then he grinned. “I like that. As much as I enjoy fear, cowardice does grow tedious after a time. It’s so very hard to hold a conversation with someone who’s whimpering and cowering and begging for mercy.”

Cassandra said nothing. She still wasn’t sure what to make of this strange man, this “Pitch Black”, quite yet.

“So what is your name, bold one?”

“Cassandra Fisher.”

“Cassandra. ‘To excel and to shine’. How oddly fitting.”

Feeling insulted, Cassandra scowled. It was the first real emotion she’d displayed since getting sucked into this nightmare, but she really didn’t like people making fun of her name. “Says the one named ‘Pitch Black.’”

Something very cold, like an icy finger, traced down the length of her spine. She didn’t shiver (she didn’t dare), as the Boogeyman’s eyes narrowed. “I have been known by many names over the ages, girl,” he said in a voice that was deadly soft. “Don’t mistake my interest for geniality. Even with your magic I could crush you like a fallen leaf.”

“I’m sure you can.” She wasn’t being sarcastic, she truly meant it. She could _feel_ the danger, the power, radiating off of him as humanoid shadows loomed high around them. “I just don’t like people making fun of my name. It’s bad enough my parents call me crap like ‘Cassy’ or ‘Sandra’ even though I hate it.”

As fast as Pitch Black’s anger had appeared, it melted away again, and just like that the haughty smile was back.

“In that case, I shall call you Cassandra. In exchange you will answer my questions. Deal?”

She thought it over for a moment. “Nothing personal?”

“Oh, no,” he assured her in a silky voice. “I merely wish to indulge my curiosity over your rather…unique abilities. My intentions are far from sinister, I assure you.”

Cassandra didn’t believe it, not even for a moment. She couldn’t explain why (perhaps it was the oily aura he exuded, like a crooked car salesman), but she had the feeling this Pitch Black was an accomplished liar. He was trying to manipulate her, and making no effort whatsoever to hide the fact, which indicated plainly just how little he thought of her intelligence.

_Better put a stop to that._

She countered his offer. “How about you call me Cassandra out of respect, because I asked you to, and then we answer each other’s questions.”

One dark eyebrow lifted. “Respect? I am a spirit and a king. What are you?” He scoffed. “A human and a child.”

“We may be different,” she admitted, “but we are mutual in our curiosity. I will show you respect if you show it to me in return, that way we can both get what we want.”

He threw back his head and laughed. He laughed and laughed until Cassandra was sure he’d burst a lung.

“Oh, you _are_ bold, young one,” he chortled. “Bold and intelligent. I rather like that.” 

He waved his hands through the air in a casual gesture. She couldn’t help but notice just how very long his fingers were, and with sudden clarity, she realized that he must’ve been the one who’d grabbed her in the dark last night. “Very well,” he decided. “I accept your terms.”

Before he could ask the first question, though, he looked around sharply. “Another night, perhaps,” he told her tersely, looking exceptionally aggravated. “It seems we are being rudely interrupted.”

Cassandra opened her mouth to ask him what he meant, but instead her eyes shot open as her physical body was forcibly shaken.

“Well, thank God,” Carol huffed. “I was starting to think you were dead.”

“Come on,” Randy’s voice called from the kitchen. “Hurry up, Cassy. You’re gonna be late for school!”

Shaking her head to clear the lingering haze, Cassandra jumped up from the couch to take a shower. As she quickly scrubbed stink and dog hair from her body, she wondered about the dream she’d had.

Pitch Black was a very odd character indeed, treading the finest of lines between fascinating and creepy. She didn’t trust him more than she could throw him, but he was the first person (or rather, _spirit_ , if she was to believe what he’d said) that she’d met who possessed powers similar to her own. She was desperate for answers, and until she tracked down the one responsible for creating those yellow sand streams, he was the only available source. It would be stupid to waste such an opportunity, even if she couldn’t trust the half of what he said.

Besides, she reasoned as she toweled herself dry, he’d given his word to answer her questions if she answered his, and she couldn’t think of any reason why he’d break that promise. He was clearly as interested in her existence as she was in his, so reneging on their agreement would only serve to his own detriment. He may be a liar, but he didn’t appear to be a wholly unreasonable sort.

At least he’d agreed to call her Cassandra.

* * *

Sitting on his dark throne, Pitch Black opened his eyes. A triumphant grin spread wide across his face as he absently stroked Onyx’s mane with one hand.

“How interesting,” he purred. “How very, _very_ interesting.”


	2. First Day, Second Night

Cassandra’s new school wasn’t much bigger than her old one, which was always a plus. She had no idea who her teacher was, or where the office was, or if it was even possible for her to attend school so early after arriving. (Wasn’t there a transfer period or something?) But her dad had told her to go, so she got ready and went, even though her backpack was conspicuously empty and she probably would’ve never figured out where to go had it not been for the massive throngs of kids heading in approximately the same direction. When she got there, she allowed the general flow of the crowd to pull her into the building until she spotted a paper sign on the wall pointing towards the main office. She pushed her way to the double doors, heaved them open, and approached the secretary’s desk.

“Can I help you honey?” the woman sitting there asked kindly.

“I’m Cassandra Fisher. I’m supposed to start school today.”

“You are?” Perfectly sculpted brows pinched together as the woman—who, according to the name plaque on her desk, was named Ms. Price—tapped away at her computer keyboard. After a few moments she shook her head. “No…no, I don’t see any Cassandra Fisher in the system.”

A deep, masculine voice resounded out of a nearby doorway. “Did you say Fisher?” A middle-aged man in a pristine suit and tie appeared from that room and strode purposefully towards them. He stopped by the secretary’s desk and looked down at Cassandra. “Are you Randy’s kid?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Ms. Price exclaimed. She pressed a hand to her heart, though Cassandra didn’t have a clue why. “My dear, I am so sorry, I completely forgot!”

“Your dad came in last night to speak to us,” the man explained. “Normally we don’t let kids into school right away, especially without transfer records, but he explained the situation to us and we made an exception. You’re good to go.” Then he had a sudden thought. “I actually have the class assignment list on my desk. Let me go get it.”

He retreated back to his office.

“I really am sorry about that, honey,” Ms. Price said. She still looked strangely distressed, even though Cassandra herself wasn’t all that bothered by what had happened. “I completely forgot your dad came in. And dear, if there’s anything you need, anything at all, please feel free to stop by. Or you can go down the hall to Guidance. We’re always available, even if you just need to talk to someone.”

“’Kay,” Cassandra replied noncommittally, though she couldn’t help but wonder what sort of horror stories her dad had been telling for the secretary to openly recommend counseling on the very first day.

At that moment, a male teacher came into the office carrying a stack of papers. He wore black dress pants, a blue button-down shirt, and what was unmistakably a large reindeer pin on his lapel. He greeted the secretary cheerfully.

“Morning, Janet!”

“Oh, thank you,” Ms. Price replied just as jovially as she took the papers from him. She meant to say more, but the rest of her response was cut short by the return of the suit-and-tie man, whom Cassandra was starting to suspect was the principal.

“Here you go,” he said, handing the paper to Cassandra. “You’re teacher’s name is Mrs. Kimble.”

“Hey you’re right next door to me,” the reindeer pin teacher said with a broad smile. _Why is he so happy this early in the morning?_ “I can take you if you want.”

“Sure.”

As the principal returned to his office without further ado, a woman poked her head through the double doors and called, “Jamie.”

The teacher looked around.

“Are you covering the math lesson for a second day, or did your kids all get it?”

“I’ve got a couple who are a little behind, so I’m going to review for the first half of class.”

“Okay, that’s fine. Just don’t get too far ahead or Marshall will yell at me.”

“I heard that,” the principal’s voice called. Both teachers grinned.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered,” the male teacher assured his colleague.

“Great, thanks,” she replied, and disappeared.

“Come on, I’ll take you,” the male teacher said to Cassandra. “I’m Mr. Bennett, by the way.” He continued to gab as he led the way out of the office. “I teach fourth grade, so you don’t get to be in my class, darn it. But like I said, I’m right next door so feel free to stop by any time.”

As they moved through the gradually emptying hallways, quite a few students greeted Mr. Bennett over the din. Apparently he was rather popular. He responded in kind with massive smiles and genuinely cheerful waves.

“Ready for Christmas?” he called, and a whole crowd of students (mostly younger kids) cheered. “So am I!”

The man was insufferably good-natured. Cassandra wondered if he ever stopped smiling.

“You ready for Christmas too?” Mr. Bennett asked Cassandra. “What did you ask Santa for this year?”

“Santa isn’t real,” she informed him. To her surprise, the man looked startled by her conviction.

“Really? You mean you don’t believe?” She didn’t respond. He rubbed his chin ruefully. “Huh. They get younger and younger these days, don’t they?”

Cassandra thought eleven was more than old enough to understand that ridiculous things like Santa didn’t exist, but didn’t bother pointing that out to Mr. Bennett. Somehow she knew she’d be wasting her breath.

“Well, here we are,” Mr. Bennett reported merrily. “We have lunch together, these four rooms,” he gestured to indicate his room, Cassandra’s class, and the two flanking them, “so we’ll see each other later!”

“Great,” Cassandra mumbled, but he missed her obvious lack of enthusiasm.

“See you then!”

As a whole, the morning passed rather uneventfully. Apart from the occasional overly-zealous teacher, school in Burgess wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been back at her mom’s. For one thing, Mrs. Kimble seemed to be a lot nicer than that snarky old man she used to have for a teacher. For another, her classmates left her alone except to say hi and briefly introduce themselves. Cassandra liked that. She wasn’t looking to make friends, and certainly wasn’t about to get her hopes up no matter how well things were starting out. It had taken a couple of years for the harassment at her old school to really kick off, so she knew it was only a matter of time before things here started to fall apart. Maintaining amicable distance was by far the safest and easiest option for all involved.

Lunchtime, unfortunately, was a whole different story. As promised, Mr. Bennett’s class was there, and boy did that man like to hear himself talk. Cassandra kept her head down and tried really, really hard to ignore his banter about Santa Claus and Jack Frost and Tooth Fairy, but it was next to impossible thanks to her sensitive ears. He moved from table to table, engaging every student he passed, and it became increasingly clear to her that the overgrown child actually _believed_ all the nonsense he was spouting. Silently spooning mashed potatoes into her mouth, she found herself wondering just how in the hell a person like Mr. Jamie Bennett could be so well-liked when someone like her, who actually _tried_ to be normal, was treated like a diseased weirdo.

 _I mean,_ listen _to him,_ she thought as the man started prattling on about how Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny always argued over which holiday was best, which inevitably started a debate amongst the students. How could anyone believe crap like that? And some of those kids were in Cassandra’s class; weren’t they a bit old to be talking about Easter Bunnies?

Well, if nothing else, she took overall atmosphere of childish stupidity as a sign that maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to get through the rest of the year without too many problems. If fifth and sixth graders could openly discuss Easter Bunny and Santa Claus without being mocked or ridiculed, then maybe she could coast through as the designated “class mouse” without anyone being any the wiser.

* * *

After school, Cassandra returned home to find her dad was at work. Carol was there, though, sitting on the couch next to some blonde broad who had a Chihuahua cradled in her lap. The dog started yapping the second she walked in, and both women turned their heads to look at her.

“Hey, Cassy, this is Barb, she lives next door. Barb, this is Randy’s kid.”

“Nice to meet you,” the blonde said politely, though she made no effort to get up. She was too busy trying to pin the hysterical Chihuahua, who looked ready to tear into Cassandra’s ankles. “Barney! Shh!”

The dog just barked louder. _At least now I know where all the dog hair’s coming from,_ Cassandra thought, wholly unimpressed by both the animal and its owner.

“How was school?” Carol asked, then in the exact same breath told Barb, “You know, that reminds me. How did things go with that Richard fellow?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, you know how it always goes. One date and they’ve already lost interest.”

“Just looking for a quick lay,” Carol said with a knowing nod of the head. “That’s why I’m so glad I found Randy. He’s so dedicated to family.”

Cassandra snorted. How could the woman say such a ridiculous thing when the daughter her precious “family-man” Randy hadn’t seen in ten years was standing right there?

Annoyed, Carol turned in her seat to scowl at her. “Why don’t you go outside for a bit, Cassy,” she suggested in a tone that was as tense as it was falsely-sweet. Clearly she was only holding her temper for sake of appearances in front of Barb. “Go meet some kids, make some friends.”

Rolling her eyes, Cassandra dropped her backpack beside the couch and left, zipping up her coat as she went. Just as she reached the front door, her sharp hearing picked up Carol’s parting shot.

“You know, I really can’t stand that girl. She thinks she knows everything!”

Cassandra let the door slam shut, just so the woman knew precisely what she thought about that. Hands stuffed into her coat pockets, she wandered aimlessly through the streets of Burgess, kicking moodily at clumps of ice and snow lying on the half-shoveled sidewalks. Veering suddenly to the right, she cut through knee-deep snow banks as she headed off towards the woods. She wanted to be alone right now, and getting lost in those dark trees seemed to be a surefire way to guarantee that.

Unfortunately, she’d barely passed through the first line of naked trees when she heard noise. Cresting a hill, she stopped short, scowling down at the scene below her.

Lying on the outskirts of Burgess was a frozen pond, and all around it were screaming, laughing kids pelting each other with snowballs. Then a deeper laugh resounded, and Cassandra quickly spotted Mr. Bennett, who was struggling to hold his own against a whole group. A rail-thin teenager in a dark blue hoodie (who, for some inexplicable reason, had dyed his hair white and was holding a big stick) leapt about amongst the little kids, whooping and laughing as he helped them pelt the teacher with frozen projectiles.

“Come on, Jack, you’re supposed to be on my team!” Mr. Bennett laughed as he tried to duck a snowball. It caught him in the shoulder instead, showering cold snow all over his face and down his neck.

As he shook out his coat, he spotted Cassandra standing isolated on the hilltop. He waved enthusiastically. “Hey, Cassandra Fisher! Come play with us!”

Stiff and wary, she called back, “I think I’ll pass.”

The words had barely left her mouth when a snowball hit her hard in the face. Tiny twinkling flakes hovered before her eyes, but she waved off, exasperated and more than a little aggravated.

“I said I’ll pass!” she repeated, yelling louder this time to make sure they all heard. Then she turned on her heel and marched back the way she’d come, grumbling over how much effort it took to be alone in this town.

* * *

“Huh,” Jamie uttered as he watched the new student march away.

“Why didn’t it work, Jack?” Troy Bellings asked.

“Don’t know,” the frost spirit replied. He looked incredibly confused. “It’s never failed before.” Then a wide grin spread across his face, optimism banishing his earlier puzzlement. “I’ll just try again!”

He lifted his staff to set off after Cassandra Fisher and catch her with another fun-filled snowball, but Jamie caught his sleeve.

“Best leave it for now, Jack,” he advised. “She’s new here, and has an awful lot on her plate. She’ll come around in time.”

“Doubt it,” Troy’s older brother, Trevor, muttered as Jack lowered his staff. “My sister says she’s real gloomy.”

“Well, Trevor, she just moved here. It can’t be easy leaving home right before Christmas, can it?” Jamie said wisely.

The third-grader nodded in grave understanding.

“Maybe Santa can give her an extra nice present to make her feel better,” little Meghan, a first grader, suggested kindly.

“Yeah, North’s good at that sort of thing,” Jack agreed. His grin widened, revealing every one of his sparkling white teeth. “I’ll be sure to ask him!”

“I don’t know, Jack,” Jamie said softly. “She doesn’t believe.”

An audible gasp swept through the children.

“She _doesn’t_?!” Troy gasped.

“Why not?” Meghan asked. She sounded (and looked) close to tears. Jack took her hand to console her.

“Some kids don’t, Meghan,” Jamie explained gently. “They forget as they grow older.”

“And some don’t,” Jack added, eyeing the man with a pointed smile.

Jamie shrugged. “I guess you could say I just never grew up.”

* * *

Unable to find a more suitable place to be alone, Cassandra hid in a snow-covered tube at the school playground until it started growing dark. Figuring it was close to dinnertime, she returned to the duplex to find Barb had finally gone home, taking that yapping mongrel with her. Carol was in the kitchen, pan-frying steak. Cassandra couldn’t help but notice there were only two pieces.

“Dad working late?” she asked, shrugging off her coat.

“What?” The woman looked at her, confused for a moment. Then she smirked as she understood. “No, I just wasn’t sure what you liked, so I figured you could manage for yourself.”

Rather than engage in what was clearly another attempt to get under her skin, Cassandra replied simply, “Oh.” She went to the fridge, pulled it open, and studied the sparse contents with a critical eye before selecting a half-used jar of strawberry jam. A peanut butter sandwich would get her out of the kitchen and away from Carol in a hurry.

As she left the room munching on her sandwich, she nearly walked into her dad.

“Woah, there.” He eyed the food in her hand. “You’re not having steak?”

“She said she wasn’t that hungry,” Carol piped in sweetly, effectively destroying any comment or argument Cassandra could’ve possibly come up with.

“Oh. Well, try not to snack so much tomorrow, ’kay?”

“Sure.”

He brushed past her and entered the kitchen. Rolling her eyes, Cassandra retreated to the living room. Throwing herself down onto the couch, she polished off her sandwich and wondered just how long Carol was going to keep on being petty before the woman gave up.

_’Til I go to college or dad ditches her, probably._

Heaving a sigh, she brushed dog hair off her pants and went to grab her backpack, where it was still lying on the living room floor. She had math and history to do, so she might just as well get it done now while she had a few minutes to herself.

Once they were through with their steak dinner, her dad and Carol invaded the living room to watch T.V. Cassandra lingered just long enough to complete the final two math problems, then promptly left, retreating outdoors before she was forced to witness one more second of them cuddling and pawing all over each other. She left so quickly, in fact, she forgot to take her coat, but made no move to turn around and retrieve it once she remembered. The cold had never bothered her, and as dark and still as Burgess was right now the chances of her running into anybody were slim to none. As long as she was careful she’d be all right.

Wandering the lamp-lighted streets, flashes of yellow soon drew her attention. Cassandra craned her neck to stare up at the sky, watching the lazy sand ribbons with real interest. She frowned as it dawned on her that the sand was trailing into people’s homes, and paused on the sidewalk when one wispy tendril disappeared into a nearby one-story.

What was going on?

In spite of the obvious danger, curiosity got the better of her, and Cassandra slinked forward on silent feet. Lightening her body as if she were about to fly, she left no trail of footprints in the snow, and by employing her extensive knowledge of darkness and shadows she remained well hidden despite being in plain view from the rest of the street. Peering through the frosty glass, brown eyes widened as they watched the golden sand touch the heads of not one, but two small children. Images of dancing ballerinas immediately appeared over the head of one, while singing alligators soon took shape over the other.

Dreams? The creator of this sand was shaping dreams for others?

Once, when Cassandra was very young and just coming into her magic, she’d tried to shape a dream for someone else to enjoy. She’d been desperate to know everything she possibly could about her powers, yet had only grown more confused when she discovered that the dreams she could shape so easily for herself crumbled into useless yellow grains whenever they were shared. This unknown dream-weaver must be powerful indeed if he (or she) could create dreams for other people to experience.

 _And for so many_ …

Stepping back from the window, Cassandra studied the countless sand trails lighting up the night sky. It was a stunning feat to perform every single night, that was for sure, and she was more convinced than ever that she just _had_ to meet the one responsible.

But not tonight. Tonight she had a meeting with Pitch Black.

Heaving a sigh, Cassandra returned to the sidewalk, allowed her body to regain its usual weight, and began the long trudge home.

“Where have you been?” her dad barked the second she stepped in through the door. “Barb said she saw you leave, and with no coat on, too!”

Cassandra glanced at the stovetop clock. She’d hardly been gone half an hour. Were these people paranoid or just incessantly nosy? Why did they suddenly care about what she did or where she went?

“You’re lucky you didn’t catch your death,” her dad went on in the same harsh tone. “I was just about to come looking for you! What were you thinking?! Were you trying to get me charged with neglect?!”

Ah. There it was. Her dad’s anger wasn’t over the fact that she’d left the house; it was because he was afraid the neighbors would call the cops on him.

_Figures._

“You go to bed this instant!” her dad barked, thrusting a grease-stained finger in the general direction of the living room. “I don’t want you leaving the house after dark again! Do you understand me?!”

With a silent nod, Cassandra left the kitchen. On the way she passed by Carol, who smirked openly at her. _Bitch._ She took a hot shower, brushed her teeth, and lay on the stinky, dog hair covered sofa.

_I really hate this place._

She must’ve been tired, because within seconds of closing her eyes she was back in that dark place facing the so-called Boogeyman.

“Good evening,” he greeted, his oily voice making the words sound very much like a mockery.

“How do you get in my head like this?”

“Ah-ah,” he chided with a condescending waggle of one long gray finger. “Remember, questions go both ways now. If I answer yours, then you must answer mine. And don’t you dare lie to me.”

The last part was clearly a threat, one that he made no effort whatsoever to conceal. Cassandra didn’t waste time thinking about what would happen to her if she lied, because she’d never planned on lying in the first place. Only idiots tried to pass off a lie on someone who was an accomplished liar themselves, for they could smell bullshit a hundred miles coming.

She may only be eleven, but she certainly wasn’t an idiot.

“Of course not,” she replied honestly.

“Excellent. Now, to answer your first question, I merely brushed your head with nightmare sand. That allows me to enter your mind while you sleep.”

“Is nightmare sand similar to dream sand?”

“No, no, my dear. My question first.” He smirked at her scowl, pleased that she was annoyed and thoroughly enjoying the sense of superiority he gained from thwarting her. “So tell me, when did you start developing your magic?”

“I don’t know. I’ve had it as long as I can remember.”

“Then tell me which power you developed first.”

“I just answered a question, so now it’s your turn to answer one.”

“But that wasn’t a question,” he informed her smugly. “It was a request.”

Now it was Cassandra’s turn to smirk. “Well, I deny your request. Try again after you’ve answered my question.”

Golden eyes narrowed, but instead of growing angry with her for outmaneuvering him, his mouth curled into a dark smile. Clearly Pitch Black liked playing word tricks and mind games with people, and was pleased to have finally found someone who could match his mettle.

“I like you,” he said on a purr. “You’re fun.”

She rolled her eyes. “So is your nightmare sand similar to dream sand?”

“Actually it is corrupted dream sand. I just touch it and…” His voice trailed off as he twirled one long finger lazily through the air. As he did so, a wisp of black sand appeared, spiraling for a moment before breaking apart and collapsing into the dark around his feet.

 _So instead of making dreams with it, he makes nightmares,_ she deduced. _So is he, like, the opposite of the one who shapes dreams for the kids? Are they a sort of yin and yang that balance and play off of one another?_

The thought made her pause.

_Then…what does that make me, who can do both?_

“So which power did you develop first?”

Jerked out of her thoughts, Cassandra pondered Pitch’s question for a moment, searching back through her memories to try and recall.

“I wouldn’t really say it was a power,” she said quietly, “but I’ve always had these weird…urges to hoard things. Mostly teeth.”

One dark brow lifted. “Teeth?”

“Yeah.” Of course he thought it was strange. Even _she_ knew it was strange. “I know it’s gross, but it just…I don’t know. It feels like I’m keeping the memories safe I guess.”

“Memories, eh? Hmmm….” He thrummed his long fingers together as he considered that. There was an odd look on his face that she just couldn’t place, like he was confused and amused and darkly delighted all at once.

“So do you give nightmares to everyone?”

Her question pulled him from his train of thought. “What? Oh, no, not everyone. Children mostly, and even then only on occasion thanks to those stupid Guardians.”

“Who?”

He evaded the question by asking one of his own. “Which power came next?”

“The dream sand. I’ve been able to create it for a long time, but it took me a while to figure out how it actually worked. Before that it would just fly everywhere and make a mess. So who are the Guardians?”

“Oh, nobody you need concern yourself with. You’re human, after all.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Doesn’t it?” he asked, the picture of innocence.

She crossed her arms. “Answer my question, Pitch.”

“Are you ordering me?” There was a smile on his face, but the lilt to his voice was sinister.

“I’m requesting that you answer my question properly.”

“And if I refuse your request?”

“Then I think I’m done playing Twenty-Questions with you.”

Even if he didn’t get the reference, he grasped her meaning perfectly. A tense silence hung in the air as gleaming golden eyes bored into composed brown ones, human and spirit each demanding that the other give in. Shadows grew and flickered around them, betraying the true depth of the supposed Nightmare King’s anger.

Then, all of a sudden, he chuckled.

“Too bad you’re not a spirit,” he said with quiet amusement. “We could have become close, you and I. We’re very much alike.”

Suppressing a shudder, Cassandra sincerely hoped he meant that in a purely platonic way, like friends or something, and not…well, anything else.

“Answer my question,” she insisted. “Who are the Guardians?”

“They’re spirits like me,” he explained in a lazy drawl. “But they’re no fun. They go around telling other spirits what they can and cannot do, and punish those who dare disobey.”

So Pitch wasn’t the only spirit that existed; and from the sound of it, there were actually quite a few out there in the world. Cassandra didn’t know if she was more shocked or excited by the revelation.

“What about the rest of your powers?”

A far more generalized question, one that required a more detailed answer to satisfy. It was both a time-saving move on Pitch’s part and a cunning bid to gather more information in one turn, and Cassandra decided then that her first assumption about him was right. Not only was he an accomplished liar, he was well-practiced in the art of manipulation. She was going to have to keep her wits about her if she had any hope of keeping up with him.

“My shadow powers came next,” she told him. “Then my flight and snow, and finally my ability to create tunnels. My hearing and sense of smell came along with that last one.”

“Just like a rabbit,” he chuckled to himself.

“I suppose you could say that,” she agreed, wondering why it seemed like he was having a private joke at her expense.

“That’s all?” he inquired after a moment, and she allowed him that second question because she knew it was just his way of confirming that she hadn’t withheld anything from him.

“That’s it. That’s all my magic.”

“Interesting,” he murmured, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Seems fat man’s excluded.”

She asked “Who?” before she could stop herself, and was instantly overcome with aggravation. With the way time passed so differently here, who knew how much longer she’d have before Carol or her dad woke her up for school? It was stupid of her to waste a turn like that.

He waved his hand dismissively through the air. “A fat spirit, one who’s very full of himself, I might add. I was simply comparing your gifts to ones that other spirits possess, and noted that you failed to develop one similar to his.”

It was a reasonable enough explanation, and yet Cassandra could tell that he was dancing around the question, leaving out vital bits of information that he obviously wasn’t prepared to share with her. In any other situation she would’ve demanded he answer her properly, but something about what he’d said—or, rather, what he _hadn’t_ said—gave her pause. Maybe it was something he couldn’t tell her because she wasn’t a spirit? Or maybe it was simply a matter of trust. That seemed plausible. After only two nights, who was she to demand full confidence, especially from someone whom she knew just as little about?

Perhaps in time, when he’d gained more confidence in her character, she could ask him again.

It was his turn to ask a question. “Which of your gifts is the most potent?”

“Well, that depends. It’s always changing.”

“Really?” he said with genuine interest.

“Do you know who creates the yellow dream sand that goes through Burgess?”

He scowled. “Yes.” But the dark look disappeared just as fast as it appeared. “How has it changed?”

“When I was little, the urge to collect teeth and other memorabilia was strongest, but it’s weakened quite a bit as I’ve grown older. I hardly feel it at all anymore. The dream magic has always stayed about the same, as has my skill at making tunnels, but the other two gifts have grown significantly stronger with time and practice.”

“Shadows and frost.”

It wasn’t quite a question, but she confirmed it for him anyway, as she didn’t see a reason not to. “Yes.”

“Hmmm…”

“So who is it that controls the yellow sand?”

“Hm?” He looked up at her, confused for a moment as he hadn’t really been listening. _(That’s twice now. What on earth is he thinking about?)_ “Oh, him. That’s one of the Guardians. He isn’t very important.”

“He’s powerful enough to spread dreams all over town,” she pointed out, which made him scowl. When he responded, his tone positively dripped with ridicule.

“Yes, yes, all over the world he spreads perfect golden fantasies for adoring little children.”

All over the world?! Cassandra’s sand couldn’t even affect one person, but this still-unnamed Guardian could touch hundreds, possibly _thousands_ of children all at once?! It was absolutely astounding to her.

 _I_ have _to meet him!_

Such was the depth of Pitch Black’s abhorrence for the dream-weaver, he didn’t even noticed he’d let slip additional information. Cassandra had to smother a smug smile as she watched him silently fume over what she presumed were past grievances, for he was now doing precisely what she’d promised herself _not_ to do: allowing his emotions to affect his rational mind.

“Anyway,” he sniffed at last. “Which of your gifts is strongest: shadows or frost?”

“Frost.” Noting the disappointment (or was that disgust?) on his face, she added, “Not for a lack of trying. Shadow magic is really my favorite, but it’s been hard for me to master. Until recently I couldn’t even transport myself outside the house.”

“And might I ask what it is about shadows and darkness that you enjoy so much?”

She deflected him. “My question first: Why are you so interested in me?”

“I’ve already told you. I’m indulging my curiosity.”

“But why are you—?”

“Ah-ah, me first. Why do you enjoy the shadows so much?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love flying too. But shadows are…calming.”

He raised a quizzical brow.

“Really,” she insisted. “When I disappear into the darkness, I’m alone and secure, and everything’s so quiet. I like that.”

Pitch Black chuckled, but he didn’t seem amused at all. If anything, he looked…gloomy. Golden eyes wandering off to stare at something unseen, he said quietly, “You don’t know the half of what darkness is truly capable of.”

Cassandra frowned. Why did he sound sad? What was there to be sad about? She opened her mouth to ask, but he cut her off.

“As for your question—you were going to ask why I’m so curious, right?—well, the answer to that is simple.” He was looking at her again, and there wasn’t a trace of that baffling sorrow left as the arrogant smirk was back. “You are a human. Humans don’t have magic. That you exist at all is a mystery I would very much like to solve.”

“I take it you don’t have a whole lot to do with your time.”

He gave a sharp bark of laughter. “You could say that,” he told her before adding in a silky murmur, “for now.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. Pitch Black obviously had some sort of devious schemes in mind, and she didn’t bother asking him about them because she already knew that she wanted absolutely no part of it.

“So how many spirits are there apart from you?” she inquired instead. She was infinitely curious about the spirit world, even if she was rather wary about certain black-robed members.

“Oh, hundreds and hundreds.” He swept his hands through the air as if to encompass an entire group…or the whole world. “Powerful ones and pathetic ones, ones that can be seen and others that remain invisible, ones who matter and those who only think they do.”

He trailed to a stop, grinning. “In other words, girl, far too many for you to possibly know in your lifetime.”

All around them, the edges of the nightmare seem to flicker, like a computer monitor with a loose wire or an old television that was slightly out of tune. Pitch snarled, “Oh for darkness’ sake! Those parents of yours are so insufferably aggravating!”

“Carol’s not my mom,” Cassandra said at once. The very thought of ever being related to her both sickened and angered her.

“Be that as it may, we’ll have to reconsider these arrangements. I won’t stand to continue conversing in this manner if I’m going to keep getting interrupted!”

“Well, what do you suggest we d—?”

“Wake up!”

Startled awake, Cassandra jerked away from the one so rudely shaking her, which turned out to be Barb.

“What?” she gasped. “What is it?”

“Your dad just took Carol to the hospital. She’s having her baby.”

Cassandra groaned. _That_ was what was so important? She’d have much preferred to stay asleep.

Movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention, and Cassandra nearly choked at the sight of Pitch Black, the so-called Nightmare King, standing in the corner of the living room. Arms crossed, he glared daggers at Barb as the woman offered: “Why don’t you come over to my place? I have a free room, so just grab some clothes for the morning and you can get ready for school there.”

“All right.”

Scrambling for her duffel bag, Cassandra watched the retreating woman carefully out of the corner of her eye. She half-expected a jump of surprise, a startled scream, or maybe an indignant “Who the hell are you?”, but Barb had no reaction whatsoever to the glowering spirit. It was as if, to her, Pitch Black did not exist.

Noting the way the Boogeyman’s narrowed eyes followed Barb’s every move, something he’d said to Cassandra just a few minutes ago crept back into her mind. “‘Some can be seen while others remain invisible.’” That was what he’d said. Did that mean Pitch Black was one of those invisible spirits? Was his curiosity not just directed at her magic, but also her ability to see him?

 _That’s right,_ she realized as she trailed after Barb, casting a quick glance at the Nightmare King as she walked past him. _On the first night he wondered why I could see him, and I said something stupid about him being right there. Maybe…maybe it’s odd for people to see him._

The thought made her a little sad. She knew she shouldn’t feel sorry for the greasy, arrogant, manipulative spirit, but at the same time she couldn’t help but wonder just how much of that persona had been shaped from years and years of walking around unseen. As much as Cassandra hated having others stare at her and tease her and get into her business, thanks to her neglectful mother she could very well imagine how painful it must be for others to be treated as if they didn’t exist.

She wanted to ask him about it, but didn’t think he’d take too well to that sort of conversation. Not only was it an extremely private matter, they’d only just met and she was just a kid (not to mention the fact that he was a spirit and a king, as he liked to throw into her very human face). Bringing it up would only make him mad.

Barb’s half of the duplex was a mirror of her dad’s half, yet it felt much larger somehow. Maybe it was because it was painted in brighter colors, like the daffodil-colored kitchen and the sky blue hallway, or maybe it was just because Carol wasn’t there to annoy her. Barb’s dog was there, though, that stupid little Chihuahua. Thankfully it was sound asleep, lying on its back in its tiny dog bed with all four feet stuck up in the air like some sort of comic display of animal stupidity.

“Here’s the room,” the blonde said, pushing open a doorway before leading her inside. “I know it’ll only be a couple of days, just until Carol gets out of the hospital, but there’s a dresser there if you wanna unpack your bag.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Cassandra said truthfully. It would be pointless of her to unpack when, as the woman had said, she’d only be there a couple of days. Still, she was rather touched by the offer. Even if Barb was just trying to be polite and formal because she had a guest in the house, in the past two minutes she’d been far more welcoming than Carol or even her dad had been.

“Bathroom’s right out there,” Barb continued, gesturing to the doorway across the hall. “Be careful with the hot water in the shower. It takes a while to get through the pipes, but once it does it can be a real bitch.”

A crooked grin stretched one half of Cassandra’s mouth. “Thanks, I’ll remember that.”

“If you need anything, just let me know. Oh, and keep your door closed, else Barney will waltz in here at five a.m. looking for something to eat.”

“All right.”

“Night Cassandra.”

“Night,” Cassandra replied, wondering why this woman, of all people, would call her by her full name when nobody else but Pitch Black ever had.

Once Barb was gone, she pushed the door closed as instructed. Fully intent on turning in for the night, and actually looking forward to sleeping in a real bed, Cassandra turned around only to find the Nightmare King standing there glaring daggers at her.

“Well that took long enough!”

“She was just being polite,” she replied quietly. She didn’t want Barb to overhear and think she was talking to herself. That was bound to ruin whatever good feelings the woman might have for her.

Pitch scoffed. “There’s a distinct difference between polite and clingy, and she is certainly the latter. Bad enough she interrupted us over something so insignificant, she didn’t have to waste even more time filling your head with pointless details!”

“I’m only eleven, Pitch,” she reminded the spirit patiently. “I don’t know how things work in the spirit world, but with humans there’s rules about how old you have to be before you can be left home alone.”

“Eleven is more than old enough. Do they think you are a fool?”

Climbing into bed, she found herself stifling a chuckle. _Who’s the one wasting time over pointless details now?_

“No, but some people are,” she said, trying to appease him so he would stop raving. “They have to ensure everyone’s safety, you know.”

“Yes,” he sneered. “Save the helpless by smothering the powerful and intelligent with crippling rules. Apparently the human and spirit worlds aren’t so different after all!”

She frowned, wondering briefly what he meant by that. Then she shrugged. It seemed that Pitch Black’s list of offenders extended far beyond the still-unnamed dream-weaver, and with a personality as volatile as his, she wouldn’t be at all surprised if every last spirit in existence had offended him at some point or another.

Therefore it would be stupid to waste time thinking about it.

Yawning widely, Cassandra lay down and pulled the covers over her head.

“What are you doing?” he asked sharply.

“Going to bed. I have school in the morning.”

“I wasn’t finished speaking to you.”

“We can talk more tomorrow night. I’m tired.”

“So you get to dictate to me when and how we speak?!”

She sat up again, turning to meet his fierce gaze. “Listen Pitch,” she said firmly. “I don’t mind speaking with you. In fact, I rather enjoy it. You can be an arrogant jerk sometimes, but it’s still nice to know someone who doesn’t treat me like an idiot or a freak all the time. I’m not trying to dictate to you. As you like to remind me, you are a spirit and a king, so who am I, a human and a child, to tell you what to do?”

Even though his golden eyes continued to reflect a mixture of rage and annoyance, a faint smirk touched his mouth at those words.

“As a human,” she continued, “I have needs that you, a spirit, do not have. One of them is a regular sleep schedule. I don’t mind talking with you, but I need to be free to call it quits whenever I have to so I can function during the day. Sorry if you take issue with that, but no matter how much you complain about it, it isn’t something that I can change, so you really ought to save your breath.”

Her speech concluded, she sat there in silence, waiting for his response. His face was oddly blank, making it impossible for her to guess what he was thinking.

Then he grinned.

“Bold but sensible demands,” he mused.

“Not demands,” she corrected smoothly. “Not dictations. It’s just the way things have to be.”

“I see.” He studied her for a moment, and she looked back at him, wondering yet again what could possibly be going on within that labyrinthine mind of his. He finally commented, “You know I find you insufferable as well, yet I do not find your lack of fear affronting.”

“Thanks,” she said sarcastically, not knowing what else to say in response to something like that. Was that even a compliment? It sure didn’t sound like one. He had a really odd way of telling people he liked them, if that was, indeed, what he was aiming for.

“I shall return tomorrow night,” he announced without bothering to ask if she was even available. He truly was as arrogant as they came.

“All right,” she relented on a sigh. Lying down again, she muttered, “Good night, Pitch,” but he was already gone.


	3. When Day is Better than Night (For Once)

The supposedly good news arrived at six thirty-three a.m., right in the middle of the chaos that turned out to be Barb’s typical weekday morning. As neat and tidy as the woman kept her house, she was perpetually losing things, and having a yapping Chihuahua constantly underfoot certainly didn’t help matters. They spent fifteen minutes combing the duplex for Barb’s cell phone (turned out it was on the bathroom sink), only to then have to go looking for the mug of coffee she’d misplaced during the search (which, as it turned out, had somehow ended up on her bedside table). Once _that_ was found, the blonde sat down at the table to relax for a minute and read the morning paper, only to discover that her reading glasses were missing. She insisted she’d left them right there on the table, but Cassandra had yet to see a single pair of glasses anywhere in the house. Buttering her toast, the girl shook her head at the sight of Barb pawing through her kitchen, muttering under her breath about “those damned annoying things”. That was when the phone rang.

Abandoning the search, Barb answered her cell. It was Randy. Carol had succeeded in pushing out an eight pound seven ounce baby boy, whom they’d apparently decided to dub “Harold”. “Harold” was by far the worst name Cassandra had ever heard, and she’d heard some bad ones over her eleven years of life. A name that stupid just had to be Carol’s doing.

Even Barb seemed wholly unimpressed by the choice. Though her tone remained polite and she congratulated Randy and Carol both, her brow lifted slightly whenever she said the baby’s name. The moment she ended the call, she declared, “That is by far the _worst_ name I’ve ever heard! That poor, poor boy!”

Completely taken by surprise, Cassandra snorted out a laugh and nearly lost her mouthful of toast across the table.

“Say it, don’t spray it,” Barb chortled. The girl rolled her eyes, but one corner of her mouth lifted into a small smile.

All-in-all, it was an unexpectedly pleasant morning, one of the first Cassandra had ever experienced.

School went just as well as it could. Mr. Bennett talked non-stop, but otherwise there was no reason for complaint. She even escaped that afternoon with a relatively light homework load—just the back of a science worksheet and six math problems. She was just finishing it up when Barb returned from work. As the woman shrugged off her coat, she asked Cassandra what she wanted to eat for dinner. Wholly unused to being asked her preference about _anything_ , the girl stared dumbly at her.

Hearing the uncertain pause, Barb glanced over her shoulder.

“Pizza’s always an option,” she offered. “Or I can throw together some pasta, and I’ve got a bit of ham somewhere if you want ham and potatoes.”

Closing her mouth so she could swallow the lump that had appeared in her throat, Cassandra picked ham and potatoes. Barb nodded and set to work, though she made a point of leaving the potatoes and a peeler on the counter with a casual, “If you get bored sitting over there.”

Cassandra peeled every single one.

Dinner was delicious. For as forgetful as she was, Barb was quite adept in the kitchen. Cassandra had two helpings of ham and three of potatoes, prompting her hostess to say with a laugh, “My, my, it’s like you haven’t eaten in years!”

Cassandra didn’t dare point out that it was, in fact, the closest thing to a decent meal she’d eaten in a long, long time. Her mom didn’t cook, and it was becoming increasingly clear to her that Carol only cooked for those she cared about. Apart from school lunches, which she always got for free since neither of her parents made a lot of money, cereal and microwaveable foods comprised the vast majority of her diet.

In spite of her lack of comment on the issue, some sort of emotion must’ve slipped her typical mask of indifference and betrayed her thoughts, for Barb’s laughter suddenly died away. Glancing up, Cassandra saw that the woman’s green eyes were fixed intently upon her, as if searching her very soul for the truth. She quickly refocused on her plate and hoped nothing more came of the uncomfortable moment.

No such luck.

“How do you like living with your dad, Cassandra?” Barb asked quietly.

“Fine.”

“Everything going all right?”

“Yes.”

“Even with Carol?”

Not trusting herself to give a sensible verbal answer, Cassandra rolled her eyes.

“I know she can be a bitch sometimes,” Barb advised, “but don’t let her get to you. Giving in is the only way to lose with people like her.”

Cassandra met the woman’s gaze again, a hint of a perplexed look touching her oddly unexpressive face. “Isn’t she your friend?”

“We’re friendly, yes, but I’m also not ignorant. I know how petty she can be when she wants to be.” Her expression was grave. “Carol’s had it rough, especially with relationships. Because of that she can become quite possessive of her partners, growing irrationally jealous over the most innocent of people or situations. Blood relations are no exception.”

Cassandra’s laden fork froze halfway to her mouth, the succulent potatoes temporarily forgotten. Jealous? Carol’s bitchy, petty behavior was all because the woman was _jealous?_ Over what?! She was Randy’s daughter, yes, but genetics were the only thing the two of them shared. They hadn’t seen each other in nearly ten years, not so much as a single phone call passing between them in all that time. Cassandra was under no illusions that the man really didn’t give a shit about her beyond making sure that she didn’t get him into any trouble. In all honesty, she couldn’t even say why it was he’d decided to take her in instead of just letting his ex stick her into foster care like she’d threatened to do.

There was literally nothing there for Carol to be at all jealous about. Just how crazy obsessive did a person have to be in order to make a mountain out of a non-existent anthill?

She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know the answer to that question.

After dinner, the two washed up then retreated to the living room to watch television while they ate dessert. Cassandra had never realized until that night how much she loved vanilla ice cream, nor how enjoyable a documentary on antelope could be.

“Look at that,” Barb chuckled in amazement. She pointed with her spoon at the T.V., on which was displayed a hi-def. image of a cheetah tearing across the savannah after an ill-fated animal. “It looks like its flying!”

Cassandra hastily stuck a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth to smother the comment that bubbled up her throat. She’d been about to say “That’s nothing like flying.”

The rest of the evening was spent pleasantly enough, though Cassandra couldn’t quite shake the feeling that things were starting to slip out of her control. Having never experienced any sort of amicable human companionship before, she hadn’t known just how easily something odd (and, when it all boiled down to it, suspicious) could escape her mouth. It would seem her desire to avoid making friends had done her a bigger favor than she’d once believed, and yet no matter how terribly awkward a slip of the tongue would’ve been, Cassandra decided that she wasn’t quite ready to give up on whatever it was that was shaping between her and Barb. Even if things ultimately went sour between them, she could at least enjoy the experience while it lasted. Then she would never have to waste time wondering what she’d missed.

Bedtime in Barb’s house was eight-thirty. Cassandra had never had a bedtime before, as nobody had ever bothered enough with her to set one, but the blonde was strict about it.

“No kid in my house stays up late,” she said, though it sounded like she was talking to herself as she was busy throwing wash into the dryer. “I go to bed at ten. You think an eleven year old is gonna stay up as late as me? Ha!”

Unable to argue with that logic, Cassandra went to bed and shut her door with a quiet snap at precisely eight-thirty. She turned around and nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Would you _stop_ doing that?” she hissed indignantly.

“Doing what?” Pitch Black asked gruffly, clearly lacking any sort of idea as to what he’d done wrong.

She was more than happy to clarify for him.

“Sneaking up on people. It’s really quite rude of you.”

His retort was snarky. “Would you prefer raucous fanfare to announce my every entrance?”

Oh, two could play that game.

“Isn’t that common for royalty? I thought you were a king.”

He stiffened, and Cassandra instantly realized she’d gone too far. She opened her mouth to apologize, but he spoke first.

“Not that kind of king.”

Golden eyes drifted away as the words quietly left his mouth, betraying the true depths of his hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Cassandra said softly. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was stupid.”

“Yes, it was truly stupid of you to compare me to your lesser, _mortal_ royalty,” he sniffed. He was doing his best to maintain his usual casual arrogance, but his tone was so incredibly haughty it was clear he was overcompensating. He was still upset about what she’d said.

“Really, Pitch, I didn’t mean to hurt y—”

“My what?” he interrupted sharply. “My feelings?” He barked out a laugh. “Do not mistake me for some weak-minded fool. Words have no bite, they cannot hurt me!”

Except they could, and they had. Words may not be tangible, but Cassandra knew firsthand that they could be just as devastating as a physical blow.

And for some reason, the words that hurt Pitch most were ones that made a mockery of his being king.

_Does he not like being king?_

No. No that couldn’t be it. A person who constantly boasted of their status could not possibly detest it.

_Then…_

Staring directly into Pitch’s golden eyes, which had refocused on her brown ones, she thought hard about it, struggling to piece together what could possibly be going on within his head.

… _then is his position as king somehow in question? Does he bring it up all the time not just to remind others of his power, but to convince himself that he still has it?_

She’d read stories and seen movies with characters like that—arrogant men and women who spoke long of their position and boasted of their superiority, only for their companions to eventually discover that they, in fact, possessed none at all. Was Pitch Black like that? Did he proclaim himself to be a great and powerful king when in reality he held no prestige at all? 

She couldn’t help but wonder.

Having already rejected her apology twice, she knew Pitch wouldn’t respond well to a third attempt. So she swallowed it back with a quiet sigh, and asked instead, “So what do you want to do tonight, Pitch?”

Fast as the wind, every last trace of his prior melancholy was gone, flawlessly replaced by his characteristic smirk. “I want to show you something.”

“All right,” she agreed, seeing no real reason why not.

Her suspicion grew somewhat when he extended a hand towards her. She frowned but otherwise did not budge.

“Come,” he said, still holding his hand aloft as if waiting for her to take it.

“Why?”

His lip curled into a dangerously smug smile. “You’ll see.”

She wasn’t at all pleased by those words, and yet, in spite of her intense wariness, she couldn’t help but feel rather curious. Pitch wasn’t the sharing sort. Anything he gave was offered for the sole purpose of getting something he wanted in return; their Q&A session last time had more than proven that. She hadn’t promised him anything, and he had yet to make any demands of her tonight, so why was he looking at her like he had some horribly delightful surprise in store for her? Did it have to do with her magic? Had he discovered something pertinent but upsetting and was only acting this way in the hopes of gaining greater enjoyment from her discomfort? (Well, if that were the case then he was doomed to be disappointed. It had been years since Cassandra had felt truly upset about something, the last time being the afternoon her mother discovered her hidden tooth collection.) Did it really even matter what he was up to?

That last question surprised her, but only for a moment. Logic soon wove its way into her mind, and she asked herself the question again. Did it really, honestly matter what petty trick Pitch Black had up his sleeve? And in the same moment, she realized that no, no it did not. He had no reason to kill her, so it wasn’t as if he would do that, and if he tried to harm her in any other way she always had her magic. Spirit or not, she imagined freezing a limb until it was blue and useless would still be an unbearably painful experience for the so-called Nightmare King.

By that reasoning, she had no reason to say no to him, did she?

Keeping the frown fixed firmly on her face to ensure he didn’t get the wrong idea about her decision, Cassandra stepped forward and took his hand. His long fingers were surprisingly smooth, but also made her want to shudder. Touching Pitch Black reminded her very distinctly of how one felt whenever they made contact with something in the dark and had absolutely no idea what that object was supposed to be. It felt like he was there, yet wasn’t there, completely whole but not entirely real, clearly _him_ and yet somehow distinctly _not_ him.

It was weird.

The moment she took his hand, Pitch stepped back, effectively pulling her into a massive black shadow that appeared without warning behind him. She opened her mouth with the intent of asking what it was, but no sound escaped as they were already hurtling through a thick mass of swirling black. Heavier than mist, yet somehow lighter than any shadow she’d ever known, it felt nothing like flying at all, more like she’d been shot out of a cannon into this nightmare-like place.

It was both the most exhilarating and overwhelming thing she’d ever experienced.

Within moments they were out again. Cassandra sucked in a breath (she was unsure of when, precisely, she’d begun to hold it), but just as she opened her mouth to ask Pitch what had happened, she was struck by the reality of where they were.

Or, rather, where they _weren’t._

They weren’t in her room anymore. Nor were they in her private shadow sanctuary or any other place Cassandra had ever visited. Looking around, she soon spotted two tiny forms sleeping in a single toddler bed. Twins, about two years old. One had abandoned his red racecar in favor of his brother’s blue one, and they currently lay facing in opposite directions, yellow sand dreams dancing merrily above their little head.

She turned to Pitch so swiftly, she cricked her neck. “What are we doing here?” she asked, the words coming out hoarse in spite of her best efforts to remain calm. He may be invisible to most people, but _she_ was not. She could only imagine what would happen to her if she was caught lurking in some stranger’s bedroom in the middle of the night.

He smirked, pressed one gray finger to his lips. Cassandra’s eyes narrowed, her arms crossing indignantly over her chest.

“What are we doing here?” she repeated in a firm whisper, quietly demanding an answer.

His reply was nonchalant, as if their abnormal surroundings didn’t bother him in the slightest. “I want to show you something.

He strode smoothly towards the bed. Cassandra studied the way his long, lean, black-robed figure loomed over the sleeping boys, and all of a sudden she was starkly reminded of the fact that this was Pitch Black, the Nightmare King.

 _Is that what he wants to show me?_ Her eyes grew wide once more as she saw the spirit’s head cock slightly to one side as he observed the innocent dreams. _But why would he—?_

Understanding dawned on her the very same instant Pitch turned to grin at her. “Come,” he said, waving at her to approach.

She refused to budge.

“I won’t do it.”

“Do what?” he asked, though his attention had already returned to the boys and it was clear that he was barely listening.

“You want me to try and mess with their dreams, to corrupt the sand as you do.” She shook her head. “I won’t do it.”

“Why not?” He didn’t sound at all concerned by her reluctance. It irritated her to think that he was convinced she’d try her hand at it, one way or another, as if she had no say in the matter.

“They’re just children, Pitch. You cannot hurt them.”

He scoffed at her. “It doesn’t hurt them. See?”

Stepping back a bit so she had a clear view of the boys’ dreams, he reached out with one long finger and lightly touched one of the images. Instantly the yellow grains began to turn black. The little boy quivered and whimpered, curled into himself beneath the blankets as the delightful kite-flying dream transformed into a hideous nightmare of a winged monster swooping down from the sky to snatch and eat him.

Cassandra glared at Pitch. “It looks like it’s hurting them to me.”

Finally starting to lose patience, Pitch glared unabashedly back at her. “Do you accuse the human mind of being cruel when it creates dark visions completely unbidden by my hand?” When she said nothing, he continued snappishly, “Then do not blame me for what I do. I do not hurt them, I never have. Fear is invaluable, without it children grow up wild and stupid.”

Cassandra’s brows rose slightly as she realized she couldn’t come up with a reasonable argument for that. As foul and manipulative as he typically was, it seemed Pitch could also be surprisingly logical when the right mood struck him.

“You’re right,” she admitted.

He snorted derisively. “Of course I am!” Then he added in a dark mutter, “Though you’re the first to admit it.”

He stepped further back, waving his hand towards the second child. “I want you to try.”

She stiffened. Pitch may have been right in that giving kids bad dreams wasn’t nearly as awful as it had first appeared, but that certainly didn’t mean she was prepared to try her hand at it.

Noticing her hesitation, Pitch coaxed her with calm rationality. “You said you are unable to shape dreams for others, but you also told me that your control over the yellow sand is one of your weaker abilities. That got me thinking: Perhaps it is possible for you to shape nightmares, as I do, it is simply a matter of you being unaware of this fact because you have never tried it before.”

Such was true, and yet behind her carefully schooled expression, Cassandra swallowed thickly. It wasn’t as if she had any real reason _not_ to try. Logically speaking, trying to shape a nightmare actually made perfect sense, a completely reasonable means of figuring out the limits of her magic without endangering anyone. The boys would be scared for a little while, yes, but the effects surely wouldn’t last. Come morning they would be perfectly all right, and in all likelihood they wouldn’t even remember that they’d been frightened in the first place. Hadn’t she tried to shape a dream for another child before with absolutely no hesitation whatsoever? This was no different, really, and yet…it _did_ feel different, somehow, like she was about to break some sort of sacred rule. She couldn’t think of any reason why creating a nightmare would be considered taboo, but instinct continued to scream at her not to do what Pitch had asked.

It was incredibly confusing.

Only a matter of seconds passed in which all of those conflicting thoughts and emotions paraded through her brain, and in that time Pitch continued to stare silently at her. When he finally spoke, his words were a quiet command.

“Do it.”

Pushing aside the last of her reservations, Cassandra approached the blue racecar bed. Her gaze shifted between the boy on the left, who tossed fitfully in his sleep, and the one on the right, her intended victim (why did that word come unbidden to her head?), still enjoying his yellow sand vision. Stopping beside Pitch, the Nightmare King, she slowly stretched out a hand. Not quite sure what she was supposed to do, and receiving no instruction whatsoever from the spirit watching her, she called upon her shadow magic. Something cool and slightly menacing filled her, nothing at all like the warm, comforting feeling she usually received whenever she summoned the darkness. In that moment, standing beside the child’s bed, she felt hyper-aware of the difference, and wondered yet again why it was that everything seemed so against what she was about to do.

_It is not evil, yet it feels so vile…_

The lightest brush against the yellow sand was all it took. At once her power rushed to a single focal point within her fingertip before pouring out, effortlessly transferring to the boy’s dream. Yellow darkened to black, playground swings morphed into a deep, dark pit from which nothing escaped, not even his terrified screams, and the boy began to shiver with terror. 

Cassandra wrenched her hand away as if burned. Three quick steps put a safe distance between herself and the frightened boys. Her eyes refused to look at what she’d done, found Pitch instead. The man seemed quite pleased with her accomplishment, but his smile faded when he saw that she did not share his sentiment.

“Don’t ask me to that again,” she rasped. There was a fine sheen of sweat gathering on her brow, her every breath sharp and painful as she struggled to calm her racing heart. “Ever.”

He studied her for a moment, his expression mildly confused. After a minute of awkward silence, he shrugged.

“Humans always were weak-willed. Even with your magic, I suppose you are no different.”

The words were spoken with indifference, but he was betrayed yet again by his eyes. The golden orbs reflected an emotion that was somewhere between disgust and disappointment, and as he pinched the shoulder of her pajamas to teleported them back to her room at Barb’s, Cassandra couldn’t help but feel a little ashamed. It seemed Pitch had not only been curious to see whether or not she could successfully shape a nightmare, at least some part of him had been hoping she’d take to it and enjoy it.

That she hadn’t bothered him, though he obviously wouldn’t admit it.

“Pitch,” she said softly as he turned to vanish into the shadows.

“What?”

His terse response didn’t bother her. She was used to people being annoyed or aggravated with her. “I really am sorry about what I said before.” Before he could reject her apology, she went on, “And I don’t know why making nightmares bothers me. I honestly can’t explain it. It just does.”

He stared at her over his shoulder for a moment then blew a sharp breath between his lips. It wasn’t—quite—a laugh, humorless or otherwise. “Given your affinity for darkness, I doubt it is of your own doing. Considering you bear four of their powers, I suppose it is only logical that some of their driving instincts have also been instilled within you.”

She frowned, more confused than ever. “What? What are you talking about?”

“You bear unnatural hearing and sense of smell, yes?”

She nodded.

“Those are not magical gifts, but physical abilities, yet you still possess them.” He really did laugh, then, but it was exceptionally bitter. “It seems magic was not the only thing you stole from them.”

“From who?”

The name escaped him on a growl. “Guardians.”

Them again.

“Who are the Guardians, Pitch?”

He waved a dismissive hand at her. “Another night. I’m tired.”

He left before she could voice a single word of complaint.

* * *

It was quite a while before she saw Pitch again. The day after she touched the dream was a Saturday, and while Cassandra figured Barb would spend the better part of the day sleeping and the rest of it taking care of business around the house, the woman actually woke up before she did. She walked into the kitchen at six-forty-five to see the blonde reading the paper.

“Morning,” she greeted cheerfully, taking a sip of coffee. “Got any plans today?”

“Not really,” Cassandra muttered, shuffling over to the fridge. She felt like having eggs this morning.

“Wanna go swimming? The high school has an indoor pool, and they do Saturday morning swim. I try to go every week.”

Cassandra glanced over her shoulder. Barb was looking at her over the rim of her coffee mug, patiently waiting for a response.

“I don’t have a bathing suit,” she pointed out quietly.

“Meh, just throw on some shorts or something. As long as you’re covered I’ll make sure they don’t mind.”

Cassandra blinked. It was definitely weird having someone offer to stand up for her, as no one else ever had, and a part of her was immensely curious to see if Barb would hold true to her word.

“All right.”

“Great! Be ready by eight.”

They spent two hours at the pool. True to her word, Barb made sure nobody bothered her about her lack of a bathing suit, despite numerous posted signs declaring one-piece suits mandatory attire, no two-pieces or t-shirts allowed. Cassandra enjoyed herself so much, she didn’t even care that the chlorine ruined her clothes. She swam a few laps before lying back, completely relaxed as she floated along the surface of the water. Afterward Barb joked about her being a “water child”, but really it was just a matter of her being very aware of her body and how it worked thanks to her flying experience. She knew how to bend and align herself just right to gain maximum buoyancy, distributing her weight so that she floated effortlessly whereas most others would eventually sink.

She didn’t explain any of this to Barb, though. Some things were just better left unsaid.

They stopped by the deli to grab a light sandwich for lunch, and as they climbed back into the silver hatchback, Barb asked Cassandra if she wanted to stop by the hospital.

“Why?”

“To see your brother,” Barb replied gently.

“I’ll see him when they come back.”

There was a moment of silence, and when the car didn’t start Cassandra turned from the window to see Barb staring at her.

“What?” she asked, feeling a little uncomfortable.

“I know you don’t consider them your family,” Barb said quietly, “but don’t take it out on the baby. Whether you like Randy or Carol or not, that boy hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Cassandra murmured, but even as the words left her mouth, she remembered the whimpers of that little boy whose dream she’d corrupted and was immediately filled with guilt.

“I know you won’t, honey,” Barb said gently, and Cassandra could tell that she meant it. “But hurt doesn’t have to be physical. Like it or not, he’s your little brother. He’s going to look up to you, so try to take an interest and set a good example, okay?”

Thankfully she let the matter drop after that, as Cassandra didn’t want to be forced into a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep.

The awkward conversation did little to dampen an otherwise pleasant day, the best day she’d had in a long, long time. Barb was easy to get along with, and had no problem giving Cassandra her space whenever she needed it. They could sit together in comfortable silence just as easily as they could chat about something important (or not important at all, as the case often was), which wasn’t something Cassandra was used to. She liked it, though. She liked it very much.

That night she slept well. So well, in fact, she didn’t even notice until the following morning that Pitch Black hadn’t come to bother her.

Carol and Randy came home with the baby on Sunday, and Cassandra got her first look at her new baby brother. Her expression remained impassive, but truth be told she was far from impressed. Babies tended to fall into one of two categories: exceptionally cute or just plain ugly. Harold fell into the latter. His face was far too red, he had dozens of rolls all over his body (far too many for an eight pound baby, Cassandra was certain of it) and he had absolutely no hair at all. Not even eyebrows. Carol gave Barb some sort of medical-sounding excuse as to why that was, but Cassandra was convinced the boy was ugly simply because his mother was ugly.

_Bad draw kid._

Well, there was always the chance he would grow out of it. One could only hope.

In spite of his ugliness and terrible name, Cassandra found that the newest addition didn’t bother her nearly as much as she’d expected him to. He couldn’t do anything except cry and poop (and he did an awful lot of both), but even so his personality was a sight better than his mother’s. Carol basked in the limelight new motherhood shone upon her, practically preening every time a visitor came to see the baby. She hardly let anyone except Randy hold her son, insisting that it was for the sake of Harold’s own health, and got this horrible, over-sweet smile on her face every time somebody paid her or the baby a compliment. The whole thing was just plain nauseating, and Cassandra evaded as much of it as she could, escaping outdoors or to Barb’s whenever possible. While the girl knew better than to get her hopes up that the blonde’s kindness would last, at least at Barb’s she could get away from Carol and sleep in a real bed, even if it meant putting up with the ever-yapping Barney.

Between school and coming up with new excuses to avoid going home (which predominantly involved exploring every last nook and cranny of Burgess), Cassandra kept herself busy. Before she knew it, it was the Christmas holiday, and most of her usual escapes were temporarily lost. School closed and Barb left town to visit her brother in New Jersey, leaving her with no one but her dad and Carol for company for ten long days. She avoided them by disappearing outside as often as possible, but that meant ducking Mr. Bennett and his passel of tagalong kids (including that white-haired teenager, who seemed overly attached to both his hoodie and that large stick) at just about every turn. It was annoying, having to keep a constant eye and ear out for them, but it still beat being at home by a long shot.

Christmas Eve fell on a Thursday that year. Carol and Randy dressed up fancy, the ugly brunette even sticking her poor baby into a hideous suit so that he matched her dress, and set off at three for a friend’s party. Cassandra was glad not to be invited. She finally had the house all to herself, and had every intention of using their extended absence to her advantage. This was the first opportunity for to make the long trip out to the Saint Lawrence River, and she reasoned it was as good a time as any to collect her memory box. And so, as soon as the others had gone, she switched on her iPod, tapped open a tunnel with her foot, and set off.

It was a long, _long_ jog. By the time she finally arrived, she panting and sweating, and silently thanking the fact that her dad didn’t live even further away, like in Florida or something. The winter air felt good on her skin as she retrieved the box from its hiding place, then, all too soon, she was back in the tunnel. Gazing down the long expanse of semi-dark earth, Cassandra realized she really, _really_ wasn’t looking forward to the return journey. So, to make the run easier, she lightened her body and called upon the wind. She couldn’t outright fly down here—she’d already tried that once, when she was little, to no avail—but she could still use her flight powers to some degree while underground. With the wind’s help, instead of the heavy footfalls of a normal human jog, she instead made great leaping bounds down the tunnel, each step now the equivalent of nine or ten regular ones.

It not only made the trip faster, but far more enjoyable.

Cassandra was just sealing up the hole in her dad’s living room floor when she heard the front door open. Stuffing the memory box under the couch, she dashed to the bathroom and jumped into the shower, hastily scrubbing away the evidence of her venture.

 _Good thing I shortened the trip,_ she thought wryly as she washed her hair. It would’ve been extremely awkward trying to explain why she’d snuck out of the house on Christmas Eve only to return sweaty and covered with dirt.

Well, whatever. She had her memory box and she hadn’t been caught, so it had all worked out in the end.

As she rinsed shampoo from her scalp, Cassandra inevitably missed the flash of color across the night sky that signaled the scheduled arrival of a certain jolly man.

* * *

A large gray shape bounded through the semi-darkness, struggling to catch up with the source of the disturbance before he lost it.

Again.

With a grimace that bared large front teeth, he moved faster, sprinting on all fours through the tunnel. This was not the first time the mysterious creature had taken advantage of his network, and one way or another he was determined to put a stop to it. In all his long centuries of existence, he’d never happened upon another being capable of creating or even entering his tunnels without his permission. Pitch’s Nightmares were the only possible exception, having intruded upon his egg tunnels in the past, but he could tell by the scent that this wasn’t any of the ratbag’s minions. It was, in fact, a scent that he did not recognize. A fairly new spirit, perhaps? Another Jack Frost type determined to make his life miserable for virtually no reason other than to see the ‘kangaroo’ get annoyed?

Skidding to a stop at an intersection for not one, not two, but half a dozen tunnels, the Pooka snarled in frustration. They were careful, this elusive stranger, and cunning. They had yet to enter one of his tunnels, instead forging their own path within his network. As such, the scent was always faint at best, and easily lost, scarcely more than the vaguest hint that something was amiss. This was the closest he’d ever come to catching the culprit, but he’d been foiled yet again by the vanishing smell.

He raked a paw over his ears, a growl of annoyance rumbling deep in his throat. Who knew just how many more years would pass before the individual made another tunnel? They clearly didn’t use them often (whether out of preference or out of caution, he didn’t know and really didn’t care), which only made it more difficult for him to track them down. This infuriating game of cat-and-mouse had already been going on for nearly ten years; if it dragged on much longer he was really going to lose his temper.

His furry face settled into a determined scowl. Whoever it was, he’d find them sooner or later. The strange being was cautious, yes, but Bunnymund still had the scent. There were only so many places in the world a serial trespasser could hide, and he was slowly but surely ruling them out.


	4. Out of Luck

Christmas Day went about as well as expected. Randy and Carol pawed all over each other as they gave each other gifts, then they all had to sit through about an hour of Carol opening presents for Harold because he was too little to work wrapping paper. Cassandra got a ten dollar gift card to the local gas station from her dad (apparently he thought she’d like their sandwiches), and a box from Amazon from Barb, which she hadn’t been expecting at all. She cut it open with a kitchen knife to discover a black and sky blue bathing suit inside. Carol had a good laugh over that (“Its _winter_ for crying out loud!”), but Cassandra found a printed note card inside the box that read ‘For Saturday swim.’ She thought it was the perfect gift.

She put it to good use, too. As soon as Barb came back from New Jersey, she invited Cassandra to the pool, and before the girl could even realize what was happening the two of them had made a weekend ritual out of it. Swim until noon, then the deli for lunch (Cassandra never did use that stupid gas station gift card), and finally a quiet afternoon in Barb’s living room. Saturdays became the highlight of Cassandra’s week, especially when Randy and Carol started fighting. It started out as stupid little couples’ spats that resolved pretty quickly, but by February they were having full-on shouting matches. This, of course, made Harold cry a lot, which further aggravated Carol and made her screech more, which obviously didn’t help matters. More than once Cassandra got sick enough of the racket that she picked up the baby and carried him over to Barb’s. The woman didn’t even have to ask; she could hear the escalating noise through the walls.

When she couldn’t escape the fighting, Cassandra distracted herself by practicing her magic. Locked in the safety and privacy of the bathroom, sometimes for hours at a time, she perfected the art of sculpting flawlessly detailed snowflakes. (It was a rather stupid thing to master, really, but she figured finesse was just as important as brute power when it came to magic, so it shouldn’t be neglected.) She also spent quite a lot of time sending yellow sand figures, animals mostly, gliding or prancing around the room. The whimsy of it appealed to her, even though the careless freedom those creatures enjoyed left her feeling a little sad.

One night when the yelling was particularly brutal, a very strange mood struck Cassandra Fisher. She wasn’t sure what prompted her to try, as she was still feeling a bit guilty over what had happened with those boys and was therefore rather leery about the whole thing, but it was probably when Carol screamed that Randy could go fucking die for all she cared. That comment shouldn’t have bothered her, as she wasn’t exactly attached to her dad, and yet it filled Cassandra with some dark, sinister emotion that she couldn’t quite name. It pulled at her, called forth the darkness within her and prompted the shadows around her to shudder and creep up the walls. She lifted her hand, and with a bit of concentration discovered that she could now summon black dream sand—nightmare sand—just as Pitch Black could.

It felt…exhilarating! And empowering!

…and intimidating…

Little by little, she practiced with that sand, and though she didn’t dare try to give anyone a nightmare, not even herself, she discovered that the sand was quite apt for making weapons. That she learned rather on accident. One moment she was sitting against the bathroom door listening to Carol’s screeching voice, the next she glanced down and, startled, realized she was clutching a black sand knife. She hastily shook her hand to disperse the weapon, startled by its sudden appearance. But a few nights later she was tempted to try shaping one again, and came to discover that this newfound ability was just like her other powers. With regular practice, it was a cinch.

So that was what she did: she practiced regularly. After all, it would be stupid of her to waste a magical gift.

Right?

February fourteenth, Valentine’s Day, found Cassandra lying on the couch enjoying a moment of peace and quiet. Her dad had placated Carol enough that the two of them had gone out for a late night movie, leaving Barb to watch their kids. She was currently in the kitchen trying to catch up on some work, the tap-tap-tapping of her laptop keyboard echoing faintly down the hall. All of a sudden, Cassandra was overcome with this intense feeling that something just wasn’t right. She sat up, frowning slightly in concentration. She couldn’t hear or smell anything amiss, and Barb didn’t seem to have noticed anything either, but something was definitely wrong.

Leaving her blanket pooled on the floor, she wandered towards Harold’s nursery, peering curiously into rooms as she went. When she got there, she stepped into the doorway and stopped dead in her tracks.

“What are you doing?”

Pitch Black turned his head to smile at her. He stood beside Harold’s crib, hands clasped loosely behind his back. When he replied, his words were smooth and silky.

“I just wanted to meet the newest addition.”

“Leave him alone.”

He scoffed, waving one hand slightly as if shooing away a fly. “I never bother when they’re this young. Their dreams are pathetic and boring, hardly worth the effort.”

He stepped away from the crib. Cassandra saw a tiny ball of yellow dream sand hovering over her brother’s head, and, true to what Pitch had said, the dream Harold was experiencing really wasn’t anything worthwhile. In fact, it was hardly a dream at all; just vague shapes swirling in and out of focus.

_He must be too young to have a proper dream._

She kept her gaze fixed firmly on Pitch. It had been months since she’d last seen him, and finding him in her baby brother’s room after so long was incredibly suspicious.

“What do you want?” she asked, practically daring him to try and come up with a plausible excuse.

Turned out he already had one ready.

“I want to show you something.”

Cassandra’s expression darkened. The last time he’d said that to her, she’d ended up in some kids’ bedroom shaping nightmares. She hadn’t forgotten that night, and hadn’t quite forgiven Pitch for talking her into doing it in the first place.

Her response was abrupt. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Not tonight, perhaps,” he replied with easy confidence. “But you will go. Curiosity will get the better of you. It always does.”

“What are you talking about?”

Sharp teeth gleamed in the semi-darkness. “Go to the pond outside of Burgess,” he instructed, “after darkness falls on a night when the moon does not shine. Onyx will take you from there.”

“Who?”

A smugly satisfied chuckle was all the response she got before she was left alone again. Cassandra growled and raked a hand through her hair. He really needed to stop doing that. Forget playing games and leaving her questions half-answered, his habit of constantly disappearing in the middle of a conversation was grating on her nerves.

It reminded her too much of her mom locking herself in her room whenever she didn’t want to see or talk to Cassandra anymore.

She moved across the room to check on Harold. Her brother was fine, sound asleep with his tiny fists clenched on either side of his fat head. Reaching out with her magic, Cassandra searched but found no trace of shadow or lingering nightmare sand. It seemed Pitch really hadn’t done anything to him.

What a weird guy.

Hesitating by the crib, she idly watched his shapeless dream and wondered about Pitch Black. As dark and twisted and cunning as he inherently was, it seemed there were limits to his wickedness. She recalled, vaguely, how he had seemed personally offended when she had insinuated that his touching dreams somehow hurt the children. That was a very strange thing for a spirit, the Nightmare King no less, to grow upset about, wasn’t it? As far as humanity was concerned, it seemed his evil only extended as far as to torment and frighten kids.

And bothering Cassandra.

With a weary sigh, Cassandra left her brother’s room and returned to the sofa. She would consider Pitch Black’s offer, but only because she was, indeed, immensely curious over what he could possibly want after all this time. Why did she have to wait until the new moon? And just who the hell was Onyx? Another spirit perhaps?

She honestly had no idea.

At school the next day, she used a library computer to look up when the next new moon was. Turned out they’d just had one, and she would have to wait until mid-March for the next phase. She sighed and closed the internet browser. How very much like Pitch to give her specific directions only to make her sit around and wait for the appropriate time to carry them out. He must find annoying her deeply amusing.

In the time leading up to the new moon, Cassandra kept herself busy. At Barb’s urging, she signed up for spring sports. She wasn’t much into teambuilding and sportsmanship and all that, but it got her out of the house and gave her something to do now that she’d explored just about every inch of Burgess. Although she hated running, it took far less skill than either tennis or lacrosse, her only other options for the season, so she signed up for track and field. The first few weeks of practice were held indoors in the gymnasium, as there was still quite a bit of snow on the ground, and while Cassandra really couldn’t stand how gossipy the other girls were, she had to admit that it wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d expected it to be. There were a lot of workouts and stretching exercises, and they all got to try their hand at each event so the coach could get an idea of the kids’ strengths and weaknesses and make recommendations. Cassandra liked Coach Sophie. She was pretty easy to get along with, and while she commanded respect, she did so without being overbearing. As long as you kept quiet while she was talking and did what you were told to do, she didn’t have any rules, so it was a simple enough thing to keep her happy. Apparently she taught Phys. Ed. at the high school, which Cassandra found terribly ironic since the woman was quite the klutz. She was constantly dropping things and falling down for no apparent reason, the hapless aura she exuded oddly reminiscent of Barb.

Unfortunately, her opinion of the coach soured a bit on the eighth day of practice. Cassandra and the other girls were just getting ready to leave when one of the team members called, “Hi Mr. Bennett!”

Stifling a groan, Cassandra hoisted her backpack onto her shoulders and tried to leave the gymnasium, but the doors were blocked by the inevitable horde of hangers-on gathering in the corridor.

“Hey, guys!” his unmistakable voice replied. “Sophie still here?”

“She’s in the locker room!” somebody told him, which prompted a groan from Mr. Bennett.

“Well, I can’t go in _there,_ can I?”

The girls all laughed and tittered, though Cassandra couldn’t imagine what was so funny. She pushed and shoved her way through the crowd, trying to escape before she had to listen to any more nonsense.

To her great annoyance, Mr. Bennett spotted her. “Hey, Cassandra Fisher! Fancy seeing you here.”

Cassandra glared at the teacher. He saw her every damn day, so what was he so excited about? The man waded towards her, his path gradually clearing as student athletes began to disperse, and stood grinning down at her.

“So you signed up for track, huh? Good choice! Sophie’s a great coach isn’t she?”

“Uh huh.” She was growing less and less appealing by the second, though. Just how the hell did the coach know this insufferable blabbermouth? Were they dating? Just the thought of that made her nauseous.

Sensing the unspoken question, Mr. Bennett explained, “Oh, you’re probably wondering why I’m here, huh? Everyone else knows ’cause we’ve lived here forever. Sophie’s my sister!”

Oh.

“We have a soccer team in the summer, part of the regional youth league. You should join!”

Not in a million years.

Coach Sophie appeared at that moment, lugging her heavy duffel bag across the gymnasium, and Cassandra took the opportunity to escape.

It was eight p.m., and the early March air was chilly. Not that Cassandra minded, of course, but the wind was starting to pick up, which _was_ annoying. Her hair was coming loose from its ponytail, and brown strands kept whipping her in the face, temporarily blinding her. She stopped once to fix it, and after that gave up and just let the wind have its way with it.

Crossing the main road, she cut through a back alley, a shortcut to the duplex. As it was growing late, she hoped Carol and her dad would be quieting down for the night, but her mind understood the fallacy of that unspoken wish. Carol was bitchy no matter what time of day, and lately it was just growing worse. She had a nagging suspicion the two of them would be breaking up soon, and she couldn’t help but wonder what that would mean for her. Would her dad give her the baby’s room once it was cleared out, or would he throw her out with the rest of the trash, clearing his daily life of obstacles so he could enjoy some freedom from responsibility?

She honestly had no idea.

Distracted as she was by her thoughts, Cassandra didn’t realize she was being followed until it was far too late. She was slammed up against the side of the building, her breath escaping her on a heavy “Oof!” as a thickly accented voice declared, “Finally caught you, you sneaky rat!”

Hands balled into fists as she instinctively moved to defend herself, but the face that was suddenly very, very close to her own was so positively bizarre, she froze with her arm barely raised. Her protective mask of perfectly sculpted indifference fell completely away, leaving her jaw sagging stupidly as she gaped at what was unmistakably an enormous, gray, _talking_ rabbit.

_What_

_The_

_Hell?_

The giant rabbit frowned, but made no move to remove himself from her personal space. If anything, he moved closer, eyeing her with growing confusion that didn’t quite dispel the anger and frustration that was clearly evident on his overly hairy face.

“You’re human?” he questioned. He drew a long, deep breath through his flat nose. His frown deepened. “It’s you, all right. But that’s impossible. You’re human.” The grip on her arm tightened considerably, stopping just shy of hurting her. “Who’s helping you? Who’s been letting you into my tunnels?!”

Tunnels? Cassandra’s eyes widened fractionally. This giant animal was part of the spirit world too? And he could make tunnels just as she could?

Wait…Pitch had joked about her hearing and sense of smell reminding him of a rabbit. Could he have meant…?

_Oh great._

“Let go,” she said, firm voiced and stony faced. As bizarre as this situation was, she wasn’t about to allow herself to be manhandled by anybody, rabbit spirit or no.

“Not ’til you tell me who’s been helping you.”

With a scowl, Cassandra drew upon her magic. The wind was already strong, so it didn’t take much to convince it to help. A subtle motion with one foot was all it took, and a heavy gust shot down the alley towards them, knocking over a nearby garbage can. The heavy metal bang made her ears ring, and judging from the flinch on that too-close face, she was sure the rabbit spirit was in just as much pain. The falling garbage can knocked into something else, sending a whole lot of debris crashing to the ground. As expected, her accoster turned to see what was going on, momentarily releasing her as he dropped to a defensive crouch, almost as if he expected someone else to be there. In that moment of distraction, Cassandra slipped into the shadows and fled. With his back turned, the rabbit didn’t see her go, and though his attention was diverted for only a moment, it was enough. He realized she was gone and cursed freely, a mixture of accented slang and rather choice English, but Cassandra didn’t hang around long enough to hear more than a bit of it.

She sped home as fast as she could, emerging from the safety of the shadows only when she stepped around the corner of her dad’s half of the duplex. She trotted up the steps and ducked inside, closing the door quickly behind her. Slumped against the cheap false wood, panting from a mixture of exertion and shock, she thought: _What the hell?!_

What _was_ that?! The hell kind of a spirit was a giant rabbit? And what did it want with her?

After a moment of breathless silence, she laughed quietly. _His_ tunnels? Who was he to claim sole ownership over dirt? She’d never seen hide or hair of him in all her years traveling underground, so what gave him the right to act indignant over what were clearly _her_ tunnels?

She shook her head. Whoever that rabbit was, he was truly arrogant and stupid.

_Here’s hoping we never meet again._

That particular thought gave her pause. The rabbit spirit had said that he’d _finally_ caught her. That meant he’d been looking for her, didn’t it, and for quite a while too. It was unlikely he’d give up just because she’d slipped away from him once, especially now that he knew where she lived.

She pondered her options. Burgess wasn’t that big. Sooner or later he’d stumble upon her again, possibly even here at the duplex. It was strange for people to see Pitch Black, but the Nightmare King had said that other spirits _could_ be seen. The last thing she wanted was to try and explain to Carol and her dad why there was an enormous talking rabbit in the house.

But she couldn’t leave either. The only other relative she knew was her mom, and no way in hell was she ever going back there. She might just as well walk herself to the nearest Child and Family Services office and turn herself into foster care. And that was her only option if she packed up and left: foster care. Barb might take her in for a few days, but nobody would put up with her forever, not even the blonde. Besides, it would be pointless to go to Barb’s, as it was literally next door. If the rabbit could find her here at her dad’s, he could just as easily find her on the other side of the duplex.

Staying was always an option, of course, but who knew what would happen when she and the rabbit spirit met again. One could hope he’d do the decent thing and wait until she was alone, right?

Cassandra heaved a long sigh and straightened up from the doorframe. Tomorrow night was the first of the new moon. She would wait and hope the rabbit spirit didn’t turn up before her appointed meeting with Pitch Black. While she couldn’t always trust what he said, the Nightmare King knew far more about the spirit world than she did, and, at the very least, knew who the rabbit spirit was. Maybe he could give her some information in addition to whatever else he had planned.

Maybe…

* * *

“Find him?”

“Oh, I found her all right. Then the sneaky little hoon got away again!”

Jack cocked one slim eyebrow. “Quite slippery, is _she_?”

“Oh, rack off!” Bunny snarled as Jack sniggered. “This ain’t funny! This ain’t some spirit getting on my nerves, this situation is serious!”

“Serious?” North stuck his head around the doorway. Considering Christmas was several months behind them, the big man had found himself with quite a bit of time on his hands, which he seemed determined to fill by eavesdropping. “How serious?”

“Get this.” Bunny’s furry arms crossed over his chest, his face set into an irate scowl. “The one getting into my tunnels ain’t a spirit. It’s a human!”

“A human?”

“Yeah, and she’s got someone powerful helping her. They teleported her away the second my back was turned!”

Jack frowned as he pondered that.

“Where you find her?” North asked, striding into the room to properly join the discussion.

The Guardian of Hope barked out a humorless laugh. “That’s just it. The ankle biter lives in Burgess.”

“Ankle biter?” North repeated at the exact same moment Jack echoed in confusion, “Burgess?”

“Yeah. It’s a wee kid, ’bout ten or eleven maybe. And she lives in Burgess, of all the bloody places.”

Jack heaved a long sigh. “Why is it always Burgess?”

“Dunno. Magic seems drawn to that place like flies to dung.” Uncrossing his arms, the Pooka announced, “I’m going back.”

“Huh?”

“I’m going back to find her. I don’t care what anyone says—I wanna know who it is making those tunnels and why they’ve enlisted some human’s help.”

“Sounds like mule,” North rumbled gravely. “Chose child for work knowing you would not hurt her.”

“Yeah, but _why_? What’s the ratbag up to that he’d use a human like that?”

“I’ll help you,” Jack declared before the Russian could reply. “I know Burgess better than anyone, and I know most of the kids. Maybe we’ve met before.” Just the thought of a spirit taking advantage of a child, particularly a child of Burgess, his own hometown, infuriated him. He’d help Bunny out in any way he could.

“Bring her here,” North instructed them. “Must talk about this.” He started to walk away, but had an afterthought. “Bring Jamie too. If Jack is not her friend, having another human here will help.”

Jack and Bunnymund both nodded. It was a good idea. On the off chance this child wasn’t familiar with the Guardian of Fun, the presence of a believing human would certainly make the bizarre situation easier on her which, in turn, would make things easier on everybody.

“Have some yetis ready,” the Pooka advised the Guardian of Wonder. “If this spirit is malevolent, he won’t take kindly to us interfering with his plans. We might need the extra muscle.”

North’s expression was grave as he nodded. “Will do.”

“Ready?” Bunny inquired of Jack, tapping open a tunnel.

“Yep.”

Bunny leapt easily into the opening, and Jack soon followed, pausing only to snag a snow globe from a nearby table.

Just in case.

* * *

The following day passed by without Cassandra catching sight of the rabbit spirit. She didn’t see Carol at all, either, as the woman had apparently decided to spend a few days with some friend across town. (Bitch had friends besides Barb? Now _there_ was a big surprise.) While she was more than happy to have the house to herself, as the sun began to set on the horizon and her dad still hadn’t come home, Cassandra began to wonder where he was. After a bit of contemplation, though, she shrugged.

It really didn’t matter where he was. He could be on the moon for all she cared. It was quiet, and she was alone, meaning she wouldn’t have any trouble meeting Pitch Black tonight.

Perfect.

Leaving the bathroom after brushing her teeth, Cassandra happened to glance into the living room and thought of the memory box. It was still hidden under the couch, for she hadn’t thought of a better place for it yet. As small of a town as Burgess was, it was perpetually busy, and she just hadn’t found a truly safe space to stash her memorabilia.

She sighed. She’d worry about that later. Right now, she had something important to do.

To avoid the risk of Barb spotting her and asking uncomfortable questions, Cassandra slipped into the shadows and did not emerge again until she was down the street. It was a quick walk to the pond now that there was no snow to slow her down, and when she reached the water’s edge she stopped. Hands stuffed into the pockets of her lightweight spring jacket (worn purely for show), she waited for this Onyx person to appear.

And waited.

And waited…

After nearly an hour of standing there feeling stupid, Cassandra started to get annoyed. Was this some sort of joke? She wouldn’t have expected something this petty from the Nightmare King.

But then again, he always was flipping the script on her in regards to his character. Dark and threatening one moment, downtrodden the next. At first smug and haughty, then suddenly distant and distracted.

She’d probably never understand him.

Her keen hearing suddenly picked up the sound of an approaching creature. She frowned slightly. Judging by the gait, the creature had four legs, not two, so it wasn’t Pitch or any other humanoid spirit. And it couldn’t be that strange gray rabbit…the steps weren’t soft enough.

Curious, she turned her head to look, and from the darkness emerged a horse, black as the sky with glowing, pupil-less golden eyes. It took only a moment for Cassandra to realize that the horse was shaped from nightmare sand.

That could only mean one thing.

“You’re Onyx?” she asked.

The horse stopped a short distance from her. Though its eyes barely moved, Cassandra could tell that it was staring her up and down and was wholly unimpressed by what it saw. The girl glared shamelessly back.

“You’re here to guide me, not judge me,” she snapped.

Rather than react negatively to those sharp words, however, her irritation (for whatever reason) seemed to impress the black sand horse. It whickered faintly, turned, and trod back into the trees. Cassandra followed at once, any hesitation or irritation blasted away by the return of her curiosity. Could she also learn to shape horses like that? She realized then that she had never tried to make animals with nightmare sand before, and wanted to slap herself for sheer stupidity. Shaping animals out of dream sand was as natural as breathing, so why hadn’t she ever thought to try and shape nightmare sand animals before?

And this one was moving independently, as if it had a truly sentient mind, whereas her sand creatures were always limited in their mobility and cognizance. It was simply fascinating.

Onyx led her through the woods for a ways before disintegrating into a thick sand tendril and disappearing down a hole. It wasn’t a rabbit tunnel, Cassandra knew that right away just from looking at it, but she wasn’t entirely certain why Pitch Black would lure her underground. Was he trying to give her an advantage to make her feel more secure? Somehow she didn’t think that was the case. Peering over the edge, she couldn’t see or hear anything of note, but that only served to make her more suspicious.

Well, she’d come this far, and like it or not she needed information on that rabbit spirit.

Looked like she was going down.

With the wind to lighten her fall, Cassandra dropped into the hole. The opening deposited her into some sort of cavern, which she negotiated with ease thanks to her keen night vision. It was remarkably gloomy, and the deeper into the hole she went the louder her shadow magic called out to her. It felt like there was a tsunami building up inside her body, a towering wall of power, gathering and gathering, just waiting for the right moment to break free and crash through her and back out into the world.

It was the most exhilarating and alarming thing she’d ever experienced in her life.

Stepping out of the cavern at last, Cassandra found herself in some sort of massive room. It looked like it had once been a massive great hall, but it was predominantly collapsed so that much of it was wholly unrecognizable as anything other than piles of broken black rock. There was a crumbling walkway high above her head, and as she craned her neck to look at it, she spotted what appeared to be dozens of black iron cages hanging suspended from the ceiling.

That was definitely weird.

“Welcome.”

The disembodied voice of Pitch Black startled her, and when she jumped she heard him chuckle. She glared around the room, but of course couldn’t see him.

“What is this place?”

“So many questions,” he sighed. He appeared from the shadows nearby, striding towards her with the ease and comfort she’d come to recognize as his signature when he felt completely in control. Casting a careless glance around, he inquired, “What do you think?”

“It’s…” Cassandra honestly couldn’t think of an appropriate adjective. ‘Nice’ was condescending, and far from the truth, but ‘horrible’ was just as wrong. She didn’t hate it, but it wasn’t very appealing, either.

“Maybe with some renovations it would be acceptable,” she grumbled at last.

Pitch threw back his head and laughed. “Yes, well, I have no patience for such tedious activities.”

“Do you live here?” She could picture it, the so-called Nightmare King living in a place like this. It was certainly grand enough in size to assuage the conceit of a king, yet was dilapidated enough to all-but confirm for Cassandra what she’d already come to suspect.

Pitch Black was a powerless ruler, a king without subjects or authority or even basic respect.

And his house looked like a bomb had exploded inside of it.

Pitch made no effort to answer her question, but as the answer was pretty obvious she didn’t fault him for it. Something else had drawn her attention, anyway: a large metal object on the far side of the room.

“What is that?”

Pitch glanced around. “Ah, that. That is my globe.”

He gestured towards it, indicating without words that she could take a look. Aided by the wind, Cassandra did precisely that, leaping lightly over scattered debris to stare up at the massive black sphere. It was dotted with countless golden lights, which glimmered faintly in the dark as the globe spun slowly on its pedestal.

“Are the lights other spirits?”

The Nightmare King made a noise between his lips. “I wish.”

She studied the lights, thinking hard. They were not spirits, so they had to represent people, right? But there were far too few for there to be one for every human in existence. She examined the globe carefully, noting how there seemed to be more lights on certain continents (and, in fact, in certain countries) than others. That had to mean something.

“Are they humans who can see spirits?” she said at last, the words coming out slowly as she was unsure of her own answer.

A leering smile spread wide over Pitch’s gray face. “Clever for a brat, are you not?”

She scowled at him.

“Each light represents a child who believes,” he explained, ignoring the dark look she was giving him. “In time more will be added, while others eventually go out. They are always shifting.”

Cassandra thought about that, eyeing Australia as the island continent slowly but surely made its way past her. “They lose their belief as they grow older, right? And not all children believe because of different cultures and upbringings.”

“Precisely. You know, I really do enjoy a sensible conversation. Stupidity irks me like almost nothing else.”

Oddly enough, she had to agree with him on that.

“So why do you have this?”

“What?”

She turned her head to look at him, studying his expressive face as he responded to her question: “I know humans do not see you. That’s why you found it so odd that I can. So why do you have a globe that shows children who believe in spirits and can see them if these lights mean nothing to you?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say ‘nothing,’” he said with a cunning smile. “Let’s just say that I have a…invested interest in those children who believe.”

“Does it have to do with the Guardians?”

He stared at her for a moment before responding. “Perhaps,” he purred evasively, that smug smile not wavering one bit.

Cassandra had suspected as much. From what little she knew about them, the Guardians seemed to be Pitch’s enemies, so it only made sense for his fascination with those globe lights to be somehow connected to them.

“Is a giant gray rabbit one of the Guardians?”

The smirk finally faded as he blinked, surprised. “You saw him?”

“Yesterday on my way home from school. He jumped me in an alley.”

“He attacked you?”

He sounded incredibly skeptical, though she didn’t bother to ask why. Pitch was in a rare, loose-tongued mood tonight, and she wanted to keep pertinent information flowing out of his normally tight lips for as long as possible. Wasting time on pointless questions would be stupid.

“I wouldn’t say ‘attacked’, more like accosted. He demanded to know who was helping me get into _his_ tunnels.” She scoffed at the very idea. _His_ tunnels, indeed.

Dark brows lifted when he heard that. He murmured in a voice so quiet she barely heard him, even with her incredible hearing, “It would seem it’s not as preemptive as I’d thought.”

“What isn’t?”

He looked startled for a moment, as if he hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud. Then his smile swiftly returned, only this time it was overly pleasant, like a con man trying to charm his way into getting what he wanted. “I have something for you.”

Cassandra’s response was immediate. “I don’t want it.”

“No? I thought children loved presents.”

“You don’t seem the gift-giving sort.” Not unless it was a cobra in a box, or some other horribly twisted gift.

He didn’t even deny it. “Normally I’m not, but I decided to make an exception for you.”

“Thanks,” she said, the word positively saturated with sarcasm. She repeated her earlier declaration. “I don’t want it.”

“Your birthday is in two weeks, yes?”

“How did you know that?”

He grinned wickedly. “You’ll be surprised by what I know.”

She didn’t like the sound of that.

He continued without pause. “Just think of it as an early birthday gift, if that is what you prefer.”

With a casual wave of one hand, the gift appeared out of nowhere, riding a small cloud of black nightmare sand. It wasn’t wrapped, not that she’d expected it to be, and even with the distance of about half a dozen yards separating them, Cassandra could see that it was some sort of folded cloth.

“Clothes?”

“Take it,” he offered, still holding the present aloft. “You’ll see.”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch. It’s just a gift.”

She wasn’t sure she believed that, but even so she was loath to reject it. She’d never received a birthday present before. Her mom had never given her a single cake or card (honestly, Cassandra didn’t think the woman even remembered when her own daughter’s birthday _was_ ), and her dad had made no mention of it either, before or after he’d started fighting with Carol. Barb had given her a Christmas present, but that was different. Cassandra had never been fond of Christmas, as she’d never understood the point of such a dumb holiday. Birthdays, however, were a mark of not only how old you were, but a celebration of the fact that you’d been born at all. It always made you think: Just how in the hell did two tiny cells filled with random information make _me_? For Cassandra, those questions burned especially hot with each passing of March the twenty-eighth, because she wasn’t just an oddity. She was an impossibility. A human with magic? Born from _her_ parents? The odds were so impossibly slim, and yet it had happened. While other kids were always so excited about cake and presents and making ridiculous wishes as they blew out pastel-colored candles, all Cassandra wanted each year was to finally get some answers.

What Pitch was offering to her right now wasn’t an answer, but it was a rather nice gesture all the same. Regardless of whether or not there were dark strings attached to his gift, the simple fact that he’d made the effort to find out her birthdate was, on it’s own, enough to make her want to accept.

Stepping forward, Cassandra gingerly took the present from him. It was, indeed, clothes, but not what she was expecting. It was a long black cloak, made from material similar to Pitch’s own trademark robes. The globe’s golden lights reflected off of the iridescent cloth, giving it an ethereal glow. As she held it at arms’ length, studying it with rapt attention, Pitch spoke to her again.

“Try it on.”

She complied, swinging the cloak around her shoulders and fastening the clasp. As soon as it settled against her body, she felt the first flicker of…something. Raising one hand, she deftly drew up the hood and had to stifle a gasp.

Being inside the cloak was almost exactly like being inside her shadow sanctuary. It was warm and comforting, a gentle yet powerful embrace, wrapping her up in darkness to keep her safe. It was like she was invisible in the middle of the room, even though she knew she wasn’t really because Pitch Black was still watching her, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Thank you,” she breathed, reaching out a hand to stroke at the folds of material.

“So you accept?”

“Of course. Thank you, Pitch.”

So distracted was she by admiring the cloak, she missed the truly wicked leer that flashed across his face.

“You’re very welcome my dear.”

* * *

A short time later, Cassandra was back in Burgess, heading home. Her cloak was folded neatly and zipped up inside her jacket, safe and hidden just in case her dad was home when she got back. She didn’t need him shouting at her about accepting gifts from strange men.

 _How old is he anyway?_ She wondered. Did age even matter for spirits?

Why was she even thinking about that? It was stupid and pointless.

She made it home without incident, and was relieved to know from the silence and darkened rooms that neither Carol nor her dad was home. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was nearly midnight. It was a Friday, so her dad was probably at the bar having himself a grand time without Carol there to bitch at him.

 _Enjoy it while you can,_ she thought ruefully, heading for the living room. She was just about to unzip her coat when she caught whiff of something that was, unfortunately, quite familiar.

“Hello, mate.”

Cassandra whipped around. There was the rabbit, leaning against the doorframe leading to the two bedrooms. His arms were crossed, long ears pulled back as he scowled at her.

“Bit late to be wandering around alone, ain’t it?” he asked, his accent annoying her far more than it should.

“You’re not the boss of me,” Cassandra snapped childishly. She was too irritated by the intrusion to care. “Go away and leave me alone.”

“Can’t do that.” The rabbit straightened up, arms falling to his sides. “See, here’s the thing.” Slowly but surely he started to move towards her, talking as he went. “You’re a human, but you dabble with spirits. You don’t believe in us Guardians, but you can still see me.”

Well, that certainly answered her question about whether or not the rabbit spirit was a Guardian. Pitch never did give her an answer to that particular inquiry, and she’d been too distracted by his gift to even think of it.

She stood her ground firmly even though the rabbit didn’t stop until he towered over her, emerald green eyes boring into her brown ones. Her one saving grace in this current mess was that, from the sound of things, the rabbit spirit didn’t think that the magic was her own. It seemed he thought she was allied with another spirit, and that _they_ were the one making the tunnels and had helped her escape the other night.

If she played her cards right, maybe she could wiggle her way out of this without revealing the truth.

“Who are you?” the rabbit asked, flat nose twitching as he eyed her.

Her response was exceptionally cool. “Isn’t it common courtesy to introduce yourself first?”

Strange. She distinctly remembered having this conversation before. Was every member of the spirit world this rude and demanding?

She sure hoped not, otherwise it would prove to be a great disappointment.

The rabbit’s lip curled into a sneer, revealing large front teeth. “I asked first, mate. And _I_ ain’t the one messing with other spirits’ property!”

“I don’t recall anyone putting a claim on dirt. Do you get mad at everyone who uses subway trains too?”

A snicker drew her attention briefly from the rabbit and to a nearby window. To her shock, it was the white-haired teenager that always hung around Mr. Bennett, crouched on a chair like some sort of monkey. That stupid stick of his was cradled against his shoulder.

“She’s got you there, Bunny,” he said, grinning at the large rabbit.

“Shut up,” the rabbit spirit said rudely.

This boy could see spirits too? But neither Pitch nor this rabbit had ever mentioned that he could or seemed interested in his ability to do so.

Wait…wait, did that mean he was a spirit too?! She’d been seeing a spirit all over Burgess for _months_ and hadn’t known?!

She wanted to slap her own forehead for the sheer stupidity of the situation, but instead covered her surprise with a scowl.

“Did you let him in?” she asked the boy, flicking her dark gaze towards the rabbit spirit, who was still looming over her.

“Hey, don’t look at me,” the boy said, lifting his hands, palms-out, as if to ward off her accusations. “I followed _him_ , not the other way around.”

The rabbit growled low. “This ain’t getting us anywhere! Tell us what’s going on, and we can forget about all this.”

“But North said—”

“I don’t care what North said,” he interrupted the boy spirit. He turned his attention back to Cassandra, but not before the girl saw a look of dawning understanding cross the white-haired spirit’s face. _So they’re trying to play me, are they?_ “Give us some answers, kid,” the rabbit spirit continued, “and we’ll let this alone.”

She folded her arms, firmly yet silently declaring her refusal, and stood glaring mutely at him. As she still wasn’t entirely sure how she ought to go about getting herself out of this, she decided to wait until these spirits made their move. A good rebuttal was better than a weak—or, worse, potentially damning—slew of unguided words.

Unfortunately, her plan backfired miserably. Upon realizing that she wasn’t going to answer, the rabbit heaved a sigh. “Well, guess that answers that. Jack.”

The white-haired boy flicked his wrist, tossing something towards Cassandra. She quickly side-stepped, but it turned out he hadn’t been aiming for her at all. Rather, he’d thrown the object _behind_ her, and before Cassandra could get a look at it and discern what it was, the thing had burst into a blinding show of shimmering light and color.

_What the—?_

Briefly distracted by the impressive demonstration of magic, she didn’t see the rabbit spirit move. Smoothly adjusting his stance, he lashed out with a sharp but precise kick, unceremoniously pushing her into the swirling magical portal. She fell, and fell hard, momentarily blinded by light and deafened by whooshing wind before landing heavily on solid ground. Breath was instantly knocked out of her, and she lay for a moment of time, gasping.

“Cassandra?”

The sound of her name, spoken in a tone that was pure surprise, seized her attention at once. Still lying there on the floor, Cassandra turned her head and saw none other than big-mouthed Mr. Jamie Bennett staring down at her, his face twisted with confusion. Standing with him were a fat, balding man with a long white beard, a tiny little man who was entirely yellow, and something that could only be described as a flamboyantly colored bird-lady, who had three smaller bird-like things hovering over one shoulder.

Only one word came to her mind:

_Shit._


	5. Discovered

Cassandra got slowly to her feet, not taking her eyes off the odd assembly before her. They stared unabashedly back at her, though Mr. Bennett at least had the decency to chuckle awkwardly.

“Well,” he said, “this is certainly unexpected. I didn’t imagine it would be you.”

“So you know her then?”

That was the rabbit spirit. He’d appeared from a tunnel and now stood with the others, closely followed by the white-haired boy.

“Yeah, she goes to my school.” The teacher’s face pinched into a frown. “How come you can see the Guardians? You don’t believe in them.”

“How would you know—” she began, but stopped short halfway through the pointed question. Her gaze flicked over the others, taking in their bizarrely unique appearances.

Wait…

“Santa?” she asked skeptically, and the fat bearded man lifted his hands in a casual shrug. She then eyed the annoying rabbit spirit. “Easter Bunny?” A scowl was all the response she got from that one.

Cassandra couldn’t believe it. The blabber-mouth Mr. Bennett had been telling the _truth_? All those stupid stories about Santa and the Easter Bunny had all been real? That would mean the weird bird-lady was the Tooth Fairy, right? And the white-haired kid was probably Jack Frost. It took a second look for her to realize who the yellow man was. The dream weaver! (He was a lot shorter than she’d pictured him to be, and far more yellow, but as she already knew the true extent of his power, she wasn’t about to hold either of those things against him.) It dawned on her then that Pitch Black was right: her gifts really were copies of the Guardians’ magic. Tunnels from the Easter Bunny, ice and snow from Jack Frost, tooth collecting from the Tooth Fairy, dreams from the dream weaver…

She didn’t know what she had from Santa Claus. Hopefully nothing. It was embarrassing enough to be associated with these weird, childish spirits without having to add Santa to the mix.

The gathering silence was broken by an increasingly irate rabbit spirit.

“Great, so you know who we all are,” he snapped impatiently. “Now tell us how you’re getting in and out of the tunnels so we can be done with this.”

“Bunny,” the Tooth Fairy chided gently, but he snapped at her too.

“I’ve got things to do, you know. Easter’s only in a couple of weeks! I’ve got loads of googies to paint!”

Before Cassandra could retort, a whole group of little fairies flew towards them, straining to carry a familiar metal box.

“Hey, give that back!” the girl cried indignantly. She made to snatch the memory box, but the burdened fairies were saved when another of their comrades appeared out of nowhere and pecked the back of Cassandra’s hand with her beak. “Ow!”

“What’s this?” Jack Frost asked, eyeing the box curiously as the little fairies delivered it to the much larger Tooth Fairy.

“It’s mine!” Cassandra yelled, cradling her sore hand. “Give it back!”

Ignoring her, Tooth Fairy took the memory box from her fairies, popped it open, and gasped.

“Oh! The missing premolar from sector eleven! And the left lateral incisor from sector nine, I thought we’d lost that! Ohhhh, these are yours, aren’t they? We haven’t collected any from you before, so that’s wonderf— The bicuspids from sector one!”

She pulled baggie after baggie of teeth from the box as she spoke, appearing more shocked with each one she found. When her hands were full, purple eyes flew up to stare in disbelief at the human child. “ _You_ were the one who took them?”

Five additional pairs of eyes bored into her. Cassandra swallowed but said nothing. The folded cloak hidden under her jacket suddenly felt like it weighed five hundred pounds. She had to fight the urge to fold her arms protectively over it.

“Great,” the rabbit spirit grumbled. “Not just a trespasser, but a thief!”

She glared at him, her voice returned in an instant. “I’m not a thief!”

“Yeah? You’re just holding onto them, then, eh? Did that spirit give them to you to hang onto?”

Tooth Fairy was too busy passing teeth off onto her little fairies to offer further comment. They flew through the hole in the ceiling and disappeared, most likely headed to some place no human could ever reach, with or without the aid of magic. Cassandra watched them go with something akin to grief bubbling up inside her gut. All that work, all those memories…gone just like that.

They hadn’t even asked if it was okay to take them from her.

Anger filled her then, anger and frustration and despair, and in that moment Cassandra Fisher decided (with the possible exception of the dream weaver) that she absolutely despised the Guardians.

The annoying rabbit spirit was still talking, filling the large room with his stupid accent.

“So what’s his name then? Must’ve known each other a long time, considering when those teeth were stolen and when you started helping yourself to my tunnels.”

“They aren’t your tunnels!” Cassandra snapped, losing some of her common sense in the face of her growing indignation. Who did these spirits think they were?! “Who are you to throw accusations at people?! You don’t know me! You have no idea who I am and have no proof that I’ve done anything wrong!”

“You had those teeth,” the rabbit began, but she interrupted him.

“Maybe I found them. Maybe they were lying on the side of the road and I picked them up and kept them because I thought they were interesting.”

He snorted. “I highly doubt that.”

“But you don’t _know_ , do you? What happened to ‘Innocent until proven guilty’, or are you Guardians somehow exempt from that? You don’t even know for sure that it was me going into those tunnels!”

“I _do_ know it was you,” the rabbit retorted, each word sharp as a knife. “Your scent is incriminating!”

“Maybe the real culprit stole something of mine and used it to throw you off the real scent.” When he scoffed at that, too, she continued insistently, “How do you know, huh? When did those teeth of yours go missing?”

Her eyes fell upon the Tooth Fairy, who looked rather uncomfortable getting dragged into the heated argument. She offered the information quietly, hesitantly. “They started disappearing about ten years ago.”

“’Round the same time tunnels first got invaded,” the rabbit snapped. His arms folded firmly across his hairy chest. “Coincidence, is it?”

Cassandra refused to back down. “Ten years ago I would’ve been barely two years old. Are you saying a _two_ year old is guilty of stealing teeth? Are you suggesting some spirit convinced a _two_ year old to help them in their plot against you?”

It sounded absolutely ridiculous, but that was the point. With the exception of the rabbit spirit, all of them, including Mr. Bennett, suddenly looked rather uncertain about the whole thing.

“Send me home,” she insisted. “Send me home before my dad gets back and wonders where the hell I am.”

“My fairies are keeping an eye on your dad, Cassandra,” Tooth Fairy explained. “They’ll let us know when he’s on his way home.”

She didn’t know why or how they would to do that, but she honestly didn’t care. All she wanted was to get out of there, and quickly, before she got any more emotional.

Things always went terribly wrong whenever she got emotional. Just like that incident with Toby Allensworth and the chicken noodle soup that got her sent to Burgess in the first place.

Giving into the need to cross her own arms, Cassandra repeated, “Send me home. I want to go home. You can’t keep me here, it’s kidnapping.”

“You haven’t been kidnapped, Cassandra,” Mr. Bennett explained quickly. “We’re just trying to figure out what’s going on.”

“Well I don’t have a damn clue what you people are talking about. So can I go now?”

“As Bunny said,” the fat man (Santa Claus, apparently) said in a deep rumbling voice, “cannot be coincidence. Must be reason you have teeth _and_ scent is in tunnels.”

“I’ve already told you,” she growled through clenched teeth. “Insisting that I’m involved isn’t going to make it true!”

“At least tell us when you stopped believing in spirits,” Jack Frost offered. “Even if what you said about the rest of it is true, it’s still weird that you can see us even though you don’t believe.”

Well, there was no reason not to share that much, she supposed.

“I’ve never believed,” she replied bluntly. “Things like Easter Bunnies and Santa Claus are just plain stupid.”

“Hey!” Jack Frost said, looking a bit indignant while the others either appeared shocked or angry. “There’s no need for that.”

“You asked, so I told you. I’m not a liar, despite accusations to the contrary.” She glared pointedly at the rabbit spirit, who stared right back at her, completely unrepentant.

“So troubling,” Santa Claus murmured, stroking his long beard. “Makes no sense at all!”

“What do we do, North?” Tooth Fairy asked him. ( _So his name’s North, huh? How unoriginal._ )“There’s really no way to prove that what she’s saying isn’t true.”

“Sure there is,” the rabbit said at the exact same moment the little yellow dream weaver, who’d remained silent and contemplative up to that point, began nodding his head fervently. The latter pointed to a space directly above his head, in which there appeared a sand image of teeth.

“Oh, yes!” the fairy cried. “I completely forgot!” She laughed awkwardly as her little fairies all twittered and shook their heads at her, one rolling its eyes dramatically. To the tiny assistants, she asked, “Could you go and get them for me, please?” When one chittered under its breath, she sighed, “Yes, I know I just sent them off, but that was before I knew we’d need them.”

“Wait a minute,” Cassandra said, putting a stop to things before the little fairies could fly off. “What is going on?”

“Don’t worry,” Tooth Fairy told her with a broad smile. “I can prove you’re not lying, it’ll only take a minute.”

“ _If_ she ain’t lying,” the rabbit grumbled.

“What are you doing?” Cassandra insisted, demanding a complete answer.

Mr. Bennett explained. “Tooth has the ability to read memories from teeth she’s collected. With yours, she’ll be able to tell for certain what’s going on.”

Cassandra’s stomach knotted painfully tight when she heard that. Memories? That fairy could read _memories_ from _teeth_?! Suddenly the urges she’d experienced as a child to hoard and protect things didn’t seem so bizarre.

No, wait, she couldn’t think about that right now! This was bad! The _worst_ possible thing that could happen! If the fairy looked into her memories, she’d discover far more than the simple fact that their assumption about Cassandra being the pawn of another spirit was wrong. She’d learn about her magic and her visit with those twin boys and her peculiar relationship with Pitch Black, their enemy.

Oh shit.

Ever the observant one, the rabbit spirit picked up on her subtle change of expression at the mention of memory magic.

“Something you wanna confess?” he growled, causing the other spirits, including the retreating fairies, to focus their attention on Cassandra.

“No,” she replied as stiffly as she could. In spite of her efforts, there was the faintest catch in her tone, as if her throat had suddenly gone dry. Because it had. The others heard it too, including Mr. Bennett, and just like that the atmosphere in the room had shifted. Now the spirits were all regarding her with a mixture of wariness and confusion, and Mr. Bennett, for some reason, looked deeply disappointed.

“Cassandra,” he said quietly. “Tell the truth.”

“I did.”

“No you didn’t. Not the entire truth, and that’s called lying by omission. You know what’s going on, don’t you?”

Cassandra stood there with her arms folded firmly across her chest. On the outside she appeared resolute, but deep inside the pit of her stomach, a horrible churning had begun. This was precisely what she’d been trying to avoid. All her life she’d been treated like a weirdo, a freak, like someone who just didn’t fit in or belong, and that was _without_ anyone knowing about her magic. She’d thought, perhaps naively, that getting sucked into the world of spirits would be a good thing, that it would help her finally understand who and what she was. Unfortunately, things never really worked out in her favor, and her little foray into the spirit world wasn’t proving any different. Here she was, revealing more of herself to these people than she ever had to anyone else, except Pitch Black, and all she was getting in return were interrogations and intense, unrelenting looks of condemnation.

_And Pitch Black’s supposed to be the evil one?_

As the silence dragged on, the five spirits and one human standing against her seemed to realize she wasn’t going to respond. Growing impatient, the rabbit spirit instructed, “Tooth, go get the teeth.”

“No!”

“Then tell us what’s going on!” he snarled callously. “Those are your only two choices!”

The dream weaver laid a hand on his elbow, silently asking him to calm down, but the rabbit just shook him off.

“Please just tell us, Cassandra,” Mr. Bennett pleaded. “It’ll be so much easier for you if you do. I know how private you are.”

Cassandra hugged herself even tighter. Though she didn’t dare let it show, she was feeling quite sick.

“All right,” she conceded softly. “All right. Just…just let me go to the bathroom first, okay?”

Suspicious, the rabbit spirit asked scathingly, “Why? So you can run off the second we turn our backs?”

Brown eyes flicked momentarily to green ones. “Just where the hell do you expect me to go?” She was too drained and stressed to even raise her voice in retaliation. “Even if I get out of here, you know where I live, so what would be the point?”

He couldn’t find fault with that, so he just pursed his hairy lips and said nothing. After sharing a look with Mr. Bennett, Santa Claus—or rather, North—waved Cassandra forward with one massive hand.

“Come,” he rumbled. “Phil will show you.”

She didn’t have any idea who Phil was, but followed the large man anyway. He led her through the room, past a positively massive version of Pitch’s globe of believing children, and out into the corridor. Four bulky, extremely hairy monsters were waiting there, and North called one over. After giving it brief instructions in a language that sounded like pure gibberish, the Guardian turned to inform a staring Cassandra, “This is Phil. He is a yeti.”

The creature (yeti?) grumbled something unintelligible and indicated that she should follow. She did so, though her expression had settled into a slight frown. Just where in the hell did Santa Claus find all these yetis? Didn’t he use elves for everything? She didn’t know an awful lot about Christmas, but she was fairly sure he was supposed to have elves.

The yeti—christened Phil, apparently—stopped by an open doorway and stood back to wave her inside. If she hadn’t been so distracted by her own thoughts, Cassandra would’ve sighed at the ridiculous of it. The place was practically around the corner, why couldn’t they have just given her directions? Did they think she was too stupid to find her way without getting lost? Or had they assumed, despite her logical explanation, that she’d try to run away if some big hulking beast didn’t stalk her there and escort her back?

Well, thanks to Carol she was used to people standing outside the bathroom door.

Shutting herself inside, Cassandra all but collapsed against the sink. She clutched at the ceramic basin with hands that were suddenly shaking. She looked up into the mirror, and was shocked to see that her lips were drawn thin and her skin had become pale. Deep inside, she felt ashamed. She could’ve sworn she had more control than that. Emotions were a weakness, showing them gave others fuel with which to attack her. Up until tonight she’d faced every obstacle with patience and rationality that was wholly unusual in preteenagers, making only a few mistakes along the way, but now she was trembling like a pathetic little girl and seriously fighting the urge to vomit.

_Dammit, pull yourself together!_

Drawing deep breaths, Cassandra pushed herself up and away from the sink. Eyeing her reflection with disgust and dismay, a slight bulge in her jacket reminded her of the cloak Pitch had given her. She hesitated for just a moment before drawing it out. Gravity pulled at the folds, causing the black material to drop loose and hang beautifully from her hands. It wouldn’t hurt to put it on for just a little while, right? Just a few moments to calm down, to make her feel safe and secure again, then she would put it away and return to those stupid Guardians with a clear head.

With a quiet sigh, Cassandra swung the cloak around her shoulders and drew up the hood. Warm darkness immediately surrounded her, effortlessly pushed aside all the turbulent emotions to make room for a deep, relieving sense of calm. She stood there for long minutes, drinking in the peace and the quiet and the dark, her eyes closed and head tilted back slightly as she basked in the serenity provided by the cloak.

Completely ignorant of what was going on beyond the folds of her cloak, she didn’t hear the knocking at the bathroom door.

* * *

Phil the yeti wasn’t one to disobey. He’d been told to wait for the human girl and to return with her in a few minutes, and that was precisely what he intended to do. But a few minutes passed, then a few minutes more, and there was nary a peep from inside of that little room. Confused and a little concerned, he knocked, the softest rapping of hairy knuckles against the ornately carved hardwood door. When he received no response, he knocked a little louder, and asked in his native tongue if everything was all right.

Still no response. He pressed his ear to the door, but heard nothing. No running water, no creaking of floorboards…not even the sound of breathing. For a long moment, he hesitated in the corridor, torn between the desire to give the girl her privacy and his instinctive need to ensure that she was all right.

In the end, protective instinct won out. He gingerly took the door handle, and was shocked to discover that it gave way under his hand. It was unlocked? Why was it unlocked? Easing the door open just a tiny little crack, he put his mouth close to the slight opening and asked again if she was all right. His worry reached all new heights when there was still no sound from inside the little bathroom. Phil pushed the door open a bit more, intending to check up on her properly, but had barely put his hand to the hardwood when he spotted the hem of a familiar black robe.

Pitch Black!

Rage and indignation flooded through him. North had warned all the yetis that some malevolent spirit had been using this poor human girl, and it was none other than the Nightmare King himself! Phil slammed his palm against the door, knocking it back with an ear-splitting crash, his need to protect the human child uppermost in his mind.

* * *

Cassandra was startled out of her peaceful reprieve by the sound of wood slamming hard against the wall. Ears positively ringing, she had just enough time to glance around before massive yeti fists forced her to sink swiftly into the shadows. Cornered in the tiny bathroom by an enraged Phil, such was her only escape. She slipped into the hall and quickly reemerged, hoping to explain what had happened before the Guardians’ attention was attracted, but it was far too late. The yeti had shouted out in his strange tongue, catching the attention of virtually everyone within three floors of them, and Cassandra could hear the pounding of dozens of feet headed their way.

_Oh, crap._

Just a few rooms away, the Guardians inevitably heard the ruckus. The fastest of the lot, the rabbit spirit got there first, skidding around the corner on all fours with Jack Frost hot on his heels.

“Pitch!” the accented creature shouted just as Frost brought his staff down in a mighty swing, hurling snow and ice towards her.

With no time to tell them to stop being stupid, that she was far too short to possibly be the Nightmare King, Cassandra hastily dodged Frost’s attack. No sooner had she regained her balance, she had to duck a heavy wooden boomerang that went whistling past her head. Damn. That one had been close. By that point she was surrounded by yetis, many of whom were armed. The other Guardians had arrived, too, the dream weaver bearing a yellow sand whip while Santa Claus and Tooth Fairy carried swords.

Trapped by what was quickly becoming an army of furious spirits, Cassandra summoned the wind and leapt for the rafters, soaring up over yeti heads and hands to land safely out of reach.

“What’s your problem?!” she shouted, glaring down at her attackers.

They all froze simultaneously.

“ _You_?” the rabbit spirit uttered stupidly, his ears twitching as if he was hoping he hadn’t heard correctly.

“Who the hell else?!”

Yetis stared at each other, shrugging and garbling in confusion. Santa Claus and Jack Frost both spluttered nonsensically as they tried to wrap their tiny brains around what had just happened. The dream weaver, whose whip had disintegrated due to the immense shock of hearing _her_ voice emanating from the cloaked figure, stared up at her with the oddest expression on his pudgy face. He seemed perplexed, but also looked immensely stern, as if he suspected where this could potentially be going and didn’t like the prospects one bit.

Strangely enough, the first one to take action was Tooth Fairy. Still armed with her dagger-like sword, the colorful spirit flew up to hover in front of Cassandra, her own expression a mixture of seriousness, confusion and worry. Very slowly, as if to not startle the girl perched upon the rafters, she reached out and took the cloak in her hand. She ran the material briefly between two fingers before snatching her hand back with a gasp.

“Where did you get that?” she asked. Although her voice was steady, Cassandra could tell that the fairy was afraid.

“What does it matter?” she replied snappishly. She knew she sounded petulant, but she honestly didn’t care. After being kidnapped, interrogated and outright attacked, she was well beyond the point of caring about how these stupid Guardians saw her.

Tooth Fairy opened her mouth (probably to say that, yes, it _did_ matter), but the fat man’s rumbling voice cut her off unintentionally.

“Come down, Tooth.”

She obeyed at once, casting one final glance at Cassandra before flying down to rejoin the others. During her descent, Mr. Bennett appeared, having been lured out of hiding by the sudden quiet.

“Is everything all right?” he asked hesitantly then gasped when he spotted the girl up in the rafters. “Cassandra! How on earth did you get way up there?”

“Ankle biter flew,” the rabbit spirit reported as North’s yetis began to quietly disperse.

“Flew?”

“Yeah.”

Mr. Bennett’s brows pinched together in confusion. “But how? She’s human!”

“That she is.” The rabbit spirit still hadn’t taken his eyes off her. Like Tooth Fairy, he still clutched his weapon in one furry paw. To Cassandra, he said, “I think you owe us an explanation now. No more excuses.”

For once, the arrogant creature was right. No more excuses. There was absolutely nothing she could say or do to get herself out of this, not now that they’d _seen_ her perform magic. Cassandra supposed she ought to be angry about having her secret so forcibly exposed, or scared that they’d do something to her once they knew the full truth, but instead she felt nothing of the sort. In fact, now that her anger and indignation over being attacked had begun to fade, all she could feel was a strange sense of calm. Perhaps it was the cloak?

Yes. Yes that had to be it. The cloak was keeping her calm and rational, the shadows gently enveloping her body comforting her in spite of the turbulent situation. She would have to thank Pitch again the next time she saw him; his gift was proving to be truly invaluable.

Standing as tall as she could without bumping her head, she stepped down from the rafters. Aided by the wind, which gusted gently to cushion her fall, she landed lightly on the ground, facing the gathered Guardians and their human companion.

Jack Frost spoke first. “Wind listens to you?” he gasped.

Sparing only a passing thought for why he spoke of the wind as if it were a sentient being, Cassandra made a subtle motion with her hand that sent a few snowflakes drifting lazily towards the Guardians. Six pairs of eyes watched in a mixture of shock and awe as the little white crystals floated to the floor and melted, four pinprick puddles the only lingering evidence of their existence.

Once they were gone, the rabbit’s head shot up. “You made the tunnels too, didn’t you?”

Instead of answering him, Cassandra stuck out a foot and rapped her heel sharply against the ground. The floor and earth beneath obediently opened up, revealing a small, perfectly symmetrical tunnel which closed again soon afterward.

But not before realization struck the Tooth Fairy. “The teeth!” she cried. “You _did_ take the teeth!”

“Sorry,” she muttered monotonously, not meaning it in the slightest but figuring an apology was what the florescent fairy probably expected. “I couldn’t help it.”

“What about Sandy?” the rabbit asked, gesturing at the dream weaver.

Cassandra lifted her hand again and sent a yellow sand falcon screeching towards the ceiling. The Guardians watched it, open-mouthed, until it vanished into nothing.

“But…you’re human!” Mr. Bennett gasped again. He turned wild eyes onto the spirits gathered around him. “How is this possible?”

“What else?” North asked. “What other magic?”

His tone brooked no argument. Perhaps it was the cloak, perhaps it was something Phil had said in his unintelligible yeti language, but the fat man suspected something. As such, Cassandra hesitated for just a moment before obliging. With ease she slipped into the shadows, eliciting a startled gasp from the onlookers. Six pairs of distinctly colored eyes watched her disembodied form glide across the walls before she reemerged, fully-formed, in the exact place she’d left a moment before.

As soon as she reappeared, the dream weaver boldly approached. He hovered in front of her for a few moments, staring intently, before reaching out and swiftly pushing back the hood of her cloak. Cassandra let him do as he wanted, frowning a little to show her displeasure but otherwise making no move to try and stop him. Holding her gaze, the dream weaver reached out with one small yellow hand and sprinkled her head with sand. Nothing happened. The granules fell uselessly across her hair and shoulders, gleaming starkly in contrast to the black she wore. The dream weaver drew back a little, startled, and though she didn’t show it even Cassandra was rather surprised.

_Pitch Black can enter my head using nightmare sand, so why doesn’t the dream sand work?_

Turning a little so that he could see his compatriots, a series of symbols, shaped from his dream sand, flashed in and out of sight over the dream weaver’s head. Before she could wonder what he was doing, the rabbit spirit spoke.

“You mean your magic don’t work on her?”

The yellow man shook his head. Cassandra realized then that the dream weaver was likely mute (or, perhaps, simply wasn’t one to talk) and used the symbols to communicate.

Interesting.

“Hey, that’s weird,” Jack Frost commented. “My snowflakes didn’t work on her either. Remember?”

The last part was directed at Mr. Bennett, who nodded in affirmation.

“So she’s got magic but magic don’t work on her?” Easter Bunny raked a paw over his ears, looking incredibly frustrated by his present state of confusion. “And she’s human! Just what the bloody hell does that mean? North?”

Santa Claus shook his head slowly. “Don’t know. Sandy?”

The yellow man turned his head to look back at Cassandra, his expression grim. He shook his head very slowly, confirming that he didn’t know either. She felt her heart sink. So the Guardians didn’t know anything about it, either? But if they didn’t know, and Pitch Black didn’t know, then who else could she possibly ask? She had their powers for crying out loud! Shouldn’t they at least have an idea? _Any_ idea?

She didn’t dare let the disappointment show on her face. They couldn’t know that she was just as much in the dark about this as they were. Instead she focused on the dream weaver, whose eyes had settled upon her cloak. Something akin to disgust flashed briefly across his pudgy face before a more neutral appearance resettled. Like Tooth Fairy before him, Sandy reached out very slowly and touched the material of her cloak. Unlike the fairy, he held onto it for a long while, stroking the material between his fingers, and Cassandra had the distinct impression that he was deep in thought.

After a moment of awkward silence, and without releasing her cloak, Sandy looked up at her and shaped a sand figure over his head. She recognized the depiction at once, even if it was tiny and yellow and only showed him from the shoulders up.

Pitch Black.

She did not move or speak, and kept her expression carefully blank. But her lack of reaction seemed to betray her, for when the dream weaver released her cloak to return to the others, whatever he told them with his sand symbols set them all off again.

“What?” the Easter Bunny practically shouted. “With _Pitch_?!”

“You’ve met the Boogeyman?!” Mr. Bennett exclaimed at almost the exact same time. Cassandra didn’t understand why he looked so horrified at the prospect. “When?! When did you meet him?!”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said softly, speaking for the first time in minutes.

“It does when it’s Pitch!” Jack Frost informed her, taking a half-step forward. “Is he part of this? Are you two planning something?”

She laughed, but it was an incredibly short, empty sound. “He doesn’t know anything more about my magic than you do. He only spoke to me because he was curious.”

“Curious, yeah,” the rabbit spirit scoffed. “Curious to see how he can use you against us!”

“Please, I’ve got better things to do with my time,” Cassandra muttered, but nobody seemed to hear her as Mr. Bennett was still talking. Did he ever shut up?

“But you told me you didn’t believe in spirits,” he was saying. “Why would you say that if you’d already met Pitch?”

“I said I didn’t believe in Santa Claus,” Cassandra reminded him. North looked a bit hurt to hear that. “And I’d only spoken to him for a few minutes at that point, so it’s not like I lied. I’m not a liar.”

This time nobody countered her declaration, but she knew it was only because they weren’t listening.

“I think we ought to take it,” Tooth Fairy told the others. “Anything of Pitch’s shouldn’t be left lying around, especially since she’s a child. Who knows what might happen.”

“I dunno, how dangerous can a cloak be?” Jack Frost pointed out. “I mean, she’s obviously got Pitch’s powers too, so it’s not like it can hurt her, right?”

Cassandra bristled. “You’re not taking it,” she snapped. “It’s mine!”

“Would be best for everyone,” North informed her gently.

“Please, Cassandra,” Mr. Bennett said. “They’ve got your best interest at heart, honest.”

It was her turn to say “Please,” only her tone was incredibly sarcastic. She reminded the teacher, “All your precious Guardians have done to me is jump me in an alley, break into my home, kidnap me, accuse me of being a trespasser, a thief _and_ a liar, and then outright attack me because they were too stupid to realize I’m far too short to be Pitch Black.”

By the end of her speech, Mr. Bennett looked a little sheepish while most of his Guardian friends looked guilty, shuffling their feet and scratching at their heads awkwardly. Only the rabbit spirit, whom Cassandra was coming to detest more by the minute, asked suspiciously, “What, and Pitch Black’s been _good_ to you?”

“Oh, believe me, Pitch Black is creepy and weird and I wouldn’t trust him more than I could throw him.” The six of them appeared relieved to hear that, but she pressed on relentlessly. “But I trust him far more than I trust any of you. At least he’s never attacked me.”

The rabbit sneered, “Yeah, I bet you’re just the best of friends. Betcha he gave you that cloak as a gift, too.”

Cassandra scowled. The rabbit spirit’s expression faltered as he said, “Wait…don’t tell me he _gifted_ you that cloak.”

Mr. Bennett glanced at the Guardians, and was steeped in confusion when he saw that they were all staring at Cassandra with looks ranging from surprise to horror.

“He just gave it to you, right?” Tooth Fairy said. Cassandra wondered why she sounded a little desperate. “Because he took interest in your power and thought you could use it…right?”

“Found it?” fat man North suggested hopefully.

“Or maybe you stole it?” Jack Frost offered.

“It doesn’t matter,” Cassandra told them firmly. Why were they all so interested in her cloak? Did it really matter if he gifted it to her versus just _giving_ it to her? Was there even a difference between the two?

“Does it really matter that much?” Mr. Bennett asked quietly, noting his friends’ expressions.

“Yeah, it does,” the rabbit spirit replied grimly. To Cassandra he reiterated, “Did he give it to you, kid, or did he gift it?”

“It. Doesn’t. Matter.” She annunciated every word through clenched teeth.

The next question came from Sandy. A picture of a birthday cake appeared over his head, a question mark beside it, and while she didn’t get the reference at first, the other Guardians reacted instantly. The fairy gasped and the rabbit spirit’s head snapped up.

“When’s your birthday?”

There was real concern in his voice now, which was a little surprising considering how aggressive he’d been thus far. Honestly, what did her birthday have to do with anything? She didn’t know, but decided to tell them anyway as she saw no reason not to.

That and she was growing incredibly sick of this pointless conversation, and just wanted it to end so she could go home and get some sleep.

“March twenty-eighth.”

Jack Frost, North and Tooth Fairy all looked relieved, but Sandy and the Easter Bunny didn’t.

“What did he say to you?” the rabbit spirit demanded to know. “What _exactly_ did he say when he gave that thing to you?”

“He said to think of it as an early birthday gift if I wanted,” she reported wearily.

“And did you?”

“I suppose.”

Shocked expressions returned in full force, and the rabbit asked her, “And what, _exactly_ , did you say to him?”

“I asked him if there was a catch, and he said no, that it was just a gift.”

“ _And_?”

Why was he being so insistent about this? It really wasn’t that big of a deal, it was just a cloak! “And I said thank you,” she said on a heavy sigh. “Is that so bad?”

“So you accepted it?”

“Did you _say_ you accepted?” North clarified, patting his belly peculiarly, almost as if he had some sort of stomachache.

“I don’t know,” Cassandra huffed. “I don’t remember.”

“Remember,” he said firmly, bright blue eyes positively boring into her brown ones. “Is very important!”

Cassandra thought hard. It had only happened a few hours ago, but after everything that had taken place since then, it was incredibly hard for her to remember precisely what had been said during her brief visit to Pitch’s home.

“Yes,” she said at last. “He asked if I accepted, and I said I did.”

She was about to add ‘And I don’t see why the hell not’, but was startled into silence by their reactions. North actually turned away from her, putting one massive hand to his forehead as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. The fairy’s hands flew to her mouth, while the little ones hovering over her shoulder huddled close and twittered sadly. Jack Frost looked nauseated for some reason, and the dream weaver shook his head, angered and incredibly distressed by the news.

“Aw, kid,” the rabbit spirit said quietly. He, too, was shaking his head at her, and if she hadn’t known better Cassandra would’ve said that the Easter Bunny looked pained. “You stupid, stupid girl.”


	6. Twisted Tradition

After that rather tactless declaration from Bunny, the Guardians were all-too-quick to send Cassandra Fisher home. Jamie frowned as he watched his friends practically force the poor girl through a snow globe portal, shooing her away with hasty promises that they’d explain later. She put up a bit of a fight, sharp tongued and fearless, but the teacher could see she was far too exhausted to argue as much as she otherwise would’ve. There were dark circles forming under her eyes, and she practically drooped in spite of her best efforts to conceal her fatigue. He glanced at his wristwatch and startled when he saw it was nearly four in the morning. She had to be absolutely exhausted!

In the end, she left without much fuss, though she took a moment to cast one final glare over her shoulder. As soon as the portal closed up behind her, Jack let out a loud groan.

“Aw, man, we’re in so much trouble.”

“How were we supposed to know?!” Bunnymund asked loudly. In spite of the bluster, it was clear the Guardian of Hope was extremely worried. Long ears pulled tight against his head as he cried, “It only _just_ happened. We can’t get blamed for not knowing about it, right?!”

“Come on, Bunny, you know Pitch!” Jack retorted. “He’s gonna milk this for everything it’s got!”

“What do you mean?” Jamie asked, his concern growing exponentially by the second. “What’s going on? What’s happened?”

Unfortunately, his friends were too flustered and upset to pay him any mind. As one they started moving towards the globe room, leaving Jamie to trail after them. His human ears struggled to pick out individual voices from the overlapping conversations.

“If anyone’s at fault it’s Phil,” Bunny was saying, casting a dark look at North. The big man was too busy talking to Sandy to hear a word the Pooka said. “He’s the one who started yelling about Pitch!”

“Oh, don’t be petulant, Bunny,” Tooth snapped. “We _all_ had a hand in this! Cassandra was right—we should’ve known it wasn’t him.”

“I’m not saying I _want_ him to get into trouble,” Bunnymund explained hastily. Huddled under the globe, he assured the others, “I don’t want anybody in trouble! I just meant there might be a chance to get outta this lightly if we explain what happened.”

“If you start pointing fingers, Pitch is just going to hone right in on you,” the fairy countered.

“Me?!”

Jamie could barely hear them as North’s voice rose significantly. Glancing over at them, he noticed the Russian’s blue eyes were wide and wild as his and Sandy’s debate became ever more passionate. Reluctant to eavesdrop on whatever was going on between the two oldest Guardians, Jamie moved closer to the others so he could better hear Tooth.

“You were the one who tracked her down because she was using those tunnels,” she was saying to Bunnymund.

“I just wanted an explanation for what happened! Is that so terrible?! I had no idea it was gonna turn out like this!”

“None of us did, but we can’t very well use that as an excuse and you know it.”

“What’s going on?” Jamie reiterated, and stifled a sigh when he was again ignored. He was starting to understand how Cassandra felt earlier when they were all talking over and around her.

Whatever was going on right now, it was obviously tremendously serious.

“No matter how we spin this, it’s gonna look really, really bad,” Jack stated bluntly. His expression was calm, but his emotions were betrayed by his hands. He clutched his staff so tight, Jamie was sure he’d accidentally snap the weapon in two. “It’s grounds for kidnapping, and you know how Issitoq feels about that.”

“Plus we attacked her,” Tooth added. She wrung her hands, a bad habit of hers whenever she grew anxious. “Forget Pitch, _Manny’s_ going to be so disappointed!”

As one, all five Guardians (including Sandy and North, though Jamie didn’t have a clue how they heard her over the Russian’s domineering vocal cords) turned their heads to stare up through the hole in the ceiling. Unfortunately, the sky was moonless, likely due to the late—or, rather, extremely early—hour. A long, tense moment of uncomfortable silence settled over the room, each individual lost in their own private thoughts.

“Manny will understand,” North eventually concluded, his rumbling voice easily drawing everyone’s attention. “Was misunderstanding, yes? And child was unhurt, so no harm done.” His reassuring smile faded, replaced by a frown. “Pitch will not be so forgiving.”

Seizing the opportunity to speak, Jamie asked again, “What’s going on guys? What is Pitch going to be upset about?”

He was both relieved and worried when they finally looked at him, for their eyes reflected a wide range of emotions. Jack seemed both angry and disgusted, while the others looked either worried or upset.

“You see, Jamie,” the frost spirit explained. “There’s this…thing…about spirits giving gifts.”

The human’s eyebrows drew together, his confusion apparent. “You guys give gifts all the time.”

“We call them gifts so the children can understand,” the Pooka explained, shuffling his large feet restlessly, “but really it’s more of an exchange. They believe in us, which gives us strength and existence, and in Tooth’s case they leave teeth, so what we offer them in return is simply a trade.”

“Like thank you,” North said quietly.

“Oh.” A thought occurred to him then, one that made his previously drawn brows lift suddenly. When he was still a kid, Jack and occasionally a few of the other Guardians would sometimes come down to Burgess and celebrate his birthday with him and his friends. Their presence alone had been enough to please him, so he hadn’t thought much about it at the time, but as he reflected upon it now he couldn’t recall any of them ever bringing along a present. He inquired of them, “Is that why you guys never gave me or Sophie or anybody birthday presents, because it wasn’t a trade?”

Several of them, including Jack, winced at the mention of birthday presents, but they all nodded anyway, confirming his belief.

“Partially,” Jack told him, looking extremely uncomfortable.

“Birthdays aren’t the same for spirits as they are for humans,” Tooth explained. “You see…” She paused suddenly. After drawing a long breath, and letting it out again, she began again, choosing her words very carefully. “Jamie, gift-giving in general is rather…frowned upon, among spirits. It doesn’t happen nearly as often as you might think.”

“But you guys give each other stuff all the time,” he said, remembering all the times Bunnymund had given the other Guardians eggs at Easter and North had offered candy and fruitcake and small trinkets, no matter the occasion.

“Giving and gifting are very different with us,” Jack said. “Giving things, especially among spirits you know, isn’t so bad. It’s like saying ‘Here, I know you’d like this’, or ‘You can use this, so give it a go’. You get funny looks if you try to give stuff to spirits you don’t know that well, but as long as you make it clear it’s not a gift they’re usually okay with it.”

“Okay…” Jamie said slowly, struggling to understand.

“Gifts are different,” Tooth went on. “Gifts have…connotations.”

He did not like the sound of that. “What sort of connotations?”

Very, very softly, North told him, “Means they have feelings, Jamie.”

The human’s eyes grew positively enormous. “WHAT?!”

“Yeah,” Jack said, looking positively revolted. “And birthday gifts are worse.”

“Please don’t tell me,” Jamie muttered. If a spirit giving a gift was a sign of infatuation, he couldn’t even begin to fathom what a birthday gift meant.

In spite of his half-hearted plea, the Guardians enlightened him anyway.

“For humans,” Tooth told him, “a birthday is a marking of time and accomplishments in a limited lifetime, a reminder that they should be thankful to have been born and to still be alive.”

“I take it it’s not the same for you guys.”

“Spirit’s aren’t exactly born the same way as humans,” Jack gently pointed out, and Jamie immediately wanted to slap himself. Before he could apologize for being so tactless, Tooth pressed on.

“For dark spirits like Pitch, or even for some benign ones, like Jack, most don’t exactly like to dwell on how they came to be. For them, their ‘birthday’ is not a time to celebrate, but a period to mourn what once was and what can never be again. That’s why it’s sort of a tricky thing to deal with.”

“And why you never give birthday gifts,” Jamie concluded. He was rather surprised when Jack chuckled and Bunny growled.

“Oh I wouldn’t say _never,_ ” the Pooka grumbled, spearing the frost spirit with a positively scathing look.

“Come on, Bunny, it was funny.”

“Was not!”

In spite of the heavy atmosphere, the other Guardians joined Jack in a round of quiet laughter.

“It was, Bunny,” North said with a twinkle in his eye.

“No it wasn’t! How in the hell is a great big bag of _alfalfa_ funny?!”

Jamie burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it. The image of the proud, aloof Bunnymund handling a bag of pet store rabbit food was just too good. Doubled over, he barely heard the Pooka insist, “It ain’t funny!”

Wiping tears from his eyes, the human managed to gasp, “Why in the world would you give him that, Jack?”

The frost spirit grinned. “It was an important milestone. I had to get him something good.”

“Oh rack off!” Bunny retorted angrily.

Finally calming down, the seriousness of the situation returned and Jamie questioned, “So how come that was okay but this thing with Cassandra isn’t?”

“Well, it’s the nature of the gift,” Tooth told him. “Like I said, both gift-giving and birthdays are complex facets of the spirit world.”

Sandy said something with his symbols that poor Jamie Bennett just couldn’t figure out. North had to translate for him.

“Humans do same thing, yes? Sometimes give close friend gift too…ehhh…inappropriate for others, as jest.”

Jamie thought about it for a brief moment before nodding. Yes, he supposed that was true. Gag gifts were pretty common in the human world, particularly among close friends and family, but even the most boisterous of souls understood the unspoken rule about there being a time and a place for such things. Given the wrong circumstances, a seemingly harmless present offered in the name of good fun could transform into something deeply inappropriate, perhaps even downright insulting. Considering how meaningful gifts—and birthday gifts in particular—seemed to be in the spirit world, he could easily envision how a bag of alfalfa presented to virtually any spirit other than Bunnymund would be viewed as highly offensive, even if the giver was Jack, a known mischief-maker.

North was still translating for Sandy. “Birthdays are very serious matter, as Tooth said, so can be very, very insulting to get pretend gift. Only Jack, I think, and a few others will use them to make fun, and they are always careful.”

“So what exactly do birthday gifts mean for you guys?”

Sandy shaped a picture of two hands clasped firmly. North gestured to it as he said, “It’s like promise.”

Jamie’s eyes went wide as the pieces started to fit together inside his brain. “Wait. Wait, you don’t mean…!”

“Yeah,” Jack said with a mixture of solemnness and disgust. The expression on his face confirmed the human’s suspicions just as much as his verbal acknowledgement did.

“What—? You mean—? You mean that was—?” Jamie spluttered before his face twisted into a grimace. “Aw, gross.”

“I don’t think Pitch meant it exactly like that, though,” the frost spirit hastily assured him.

Tooth nodded grimly. “It was just a means to an end.”

“Yeah? And how’s that?” Jamie asked weakly. He simply couldn’t fathom how the Nightmare King could twist what was essentially an engagement to an eleven-year-old to his own advantage, and he had a pretty creative imagination.

The fairy’s next words positively dripped with contempt. “Pitch knew that it was only a matter of time before we learned about her powers. It’s possible she even told him about Bunny’s little rendezvous with her in the alley the other night.” Bunnymund looked a bit sheepish, shuffling his feet but making no move to interrupt. “Basically, Jamie, by tricking Cassandra into accepting his gift, he’s ensured that we can’t keep her from him, even if it’s for her own safety.”

“Buying him time to figure out what to do with her,” Jack concluded with a glower.

“But why?” Jamie asked of Tooth. “You guys are the Guardians. Protecting children is what you do!”

“It don’t matter,” Bunnymund said gruffly. He was still looking down at his large feet; apparently he felt more responsible for the mess they were in than he otherwise let on. “The ankle biter is now officially under Pitch’s protection, and he under hers. Our opinions as Guardians no longer mean anything when it comes to the two of them.” His lip curled into a silent snarl. “He’s cut off our hands by doing this. Everything we do and say from now on is gonna be put under the microscope! If we so much as look at either of them cross-eyed, Pitch is gonna use that as an excuse to file grievance against us.”

“Which is bad,” the frost spirit noted unnecessarily.

“How bad?” Jamie questioned. Considering how serious (and completely bizarre) the situation was, he wanted to have as many details as possible so as to avoid any more unsavory surprises.

Jack’s lips drew thin. “Extremely.”

Tooth’s little assistant fairies twittered sadly as she explained. “Grievances are filed in the form of a petition presented to Issitoq, the Adjudicating Eye, the spirit of justice and law. Depending upon the nature of the offense, and whether or not the claim actually has merit, Issitoq either passes judgment immediately or summons the wrongdoers to stand before him, thus giving them the chance to defend themselves.”

“So you guys are actually going to get into trouble?” Jamie said breathlessly. “Like _legal_ trouble? But you didn’t do anything wrong! How could you have possibly known?” He didn’t want to admit it, but he was starting to panic. He didn’t want his friends to get into trouble, especially when they had only made a mistake.

A really, _really_ dumb mistake, confusing a cloaked Cassandra for Pitch Black, but still…

“You were just trying to figure out what was going on,” he finished miserably.

Tooth flew over to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We know that, and when Pitch inevitably finds out what happened he’ll most certainly know it too, but that won’t stop him from filing grievances anyway.”

“Because he wants revenge against you?” he guessed. He could certainly imagine the Nightmare King being that petty.

“That and he needs us off his back for a while,” Jack told him.

“He’s buying time to learn more about her magic,” North rumbled, shaking his head. “Once he knows full truth, he’ll use her any way he can.”

“So what can we do?” Jamie’s brain immediately began to race, rapidly considering all their options. “Can’t we file our own grievance or something against Pitch? There’s no way anyone would actually believe Cassandra willingly brokered this…arrangement with him.”

“Unfortunately for us, and her, it doesn’t matter,” Bunnymund informed him. “Whether she was tricked into it or not, whether she was aware of what was happening or not, the promise is binding.”

“He made clear offer, she spoke clear acceptance,” North explained. “It’s very hard to break promise now.”

“But not impossible?” the teacher said hopefully.

The hope was quickly dashed when Bunnymund chuckled glumly. “With things like this, either the one who presented the gift has to take it back or they both have to agree to dissolution, otherwise the obligation still stands.”

His shoulders slumped. “Oh.”

“But there _is_ something we can do,” North said, a determined gleam in his eye.

“Yeah,” Jack agreed heartily.

Jamie perked up a little at the sound of their growing enthusiasm. “What’s that?”

“Work fast,” Tooth told him. “We’ve got to get to the bottom of this before Pitch does. If we figure out what’s going on with Cassandra—why she has magic, why she can see spirits even without belief, why she has our powers and Pitch’s—hopefully we can put together a plan to help her.”

Sandy shaped some images over his head, including one of a giant eyeball. Jamie cocked his head at the sight of it, both immensely curious and a little disturbed by the imagery. North acted as translator again.

“With whole story, we may be able to file grievance, like Jamie said. If dark force is behind her magic, we can argue our duty as Guardians must come before Pitch’s bond.”

“And Issitoq will force him to take back the cloak so we can help her without interference,” Tooth concluded with a satisfied smile.

Jamie nodded. Yes, that was a good plan. It killed two birds with one stone, in a sense, but that was _if_ they could prove Cassandra’s power stemmed from some ill-intentioned force. If they couldn’t, then his friends would be facing a very long, frustrating battle of wits and will against the Nightmare King.

Unfortunately, nothing would spare them the repercussions of attacking the girl earlier that night.

Jamie spoke hesitantly, unsure as to how this particular question would go over with his friends. “Um…how much trouble are you guys going to get into…exactly?”

“Well…” Her smile faltering, Tooth shared an uneasy glance with North before answering. “I suppose that depends on how far Pitch pushes it.”

The Russian’s response came slowly, as if he wasn’t entirely certain of the answer, either. “Bunny, Jack and I were ones who brought her here, but we all had part in keeping her at Pole, so…”

“And we all attacked her,” Jack pointed out, his earlier enthusiasm fading as it was gradually replaced by guilt. “But I suppose if Issitoq wants to get picky, only me, Phil, and Bunny actually tried to hurt her.”

“Oh, come on!” Bunnymund cried in exasperation. “You can’t say that! Easter’s in a couple of weeks, I don’t have time to be dragging myself off to Ikiaq! I’ve got way too much to do!”

Sandy shaped a clock over his head with yellow dream sand.

“We will have to wait and see,” North interpreted. “May be long time before Pitch hears from Cassandra what happened. When summons comes— _if_ summons comes—we will all go.”

“We’ll support each other,” Tooth said with a reassuring pat on Bunnymund’s shoulder. The Pooka didn’t look convinced in the slightest.

“Thanks for making it sound like I’m the only one doomed,” he grumbled.

“You did start it, getting all offended over your tunnels,” Jack reminded him with a mutter.

The Guardian of Hope was so physically and emotionally drained, he couldn’t even summon the energy to raise his voice at the frost spirit. “Go blow snow somewhere,” he said wearily.

As the de facto leader of the Guardians, North took charge. “Must start tonight,” he told the group. “Sandy and I will search library here at Pole, try to find record of human magic. Tomorrow night, when moon rises, we’ll speak to Manny. See if he knows anything. Tooth, you may not like it, but please see child’s memories. Might find something Cassandra does not know is important.” Tooth gave a curt nod. “Bunny, Jack, search other libraries, maybe speak to some older spirits…they may know stories. But be careful. More spirits who know about child’s magic, greater danger she’ll face. Not many like Pitch, dark or light, and some are quite bold. Issitoq’s anger will not stop them. I know it’s almost Easter,” he added sharply when the Pooka opened his mouth, “but try anyway. Will be best for everyone, and Jack can help with eggs also.”

Bunnymund looked like he’d rather have no help at all than Jack’s help, but when he caught sight of the frost spirit’s encouraging grin, he relented on a sigh. “All right. But ’til Easter’s over, my googies come first. I will _not_ allow a repeat of what happened last time Pitch interfered with my holiday!”

Nobody could disagree with that statement, so they all nodded in unspoken agreement.

“What can I do?” Jamie asked, determined to help in any way he could.

“Keep close eye on her,” North instructed. “But be careful! Pitch may grow angry if he learns you’re helping us. You still believe, but are human and grown up, so will be harder for him to stop you. He won’t like that.”

“Try to talk with her,” Tooth suggested. “Help her understand that we’re not the enemy.”

“That might be hard, seeing as how her and Pitch are on such pleasant terms,” Bunnymund said bitterly.

In spite of her compatriot’s negativity, the fairy refused to back down. “Cassandra doesn’t trust him, she said so herself. She even told us that she asked him if there was a catch before he convinced her to accept the cloak. She isn’t stupid, she just made a terrible mistake.”

“She _is_ only eleven,” Jack noted. “They can be rather naïve sometimes.” He’d befriended more than enough preteenagers over the course of his spiritual lifetime to know.

“It was pure coincidence that he met her first,” she continued, “and his opinions of us have clearly had some influence, but it doesn’t seem to me like she’s following him blindly. That means there is still hope we can get her to understand.”

“Which will help keep Issitoq off our backs, bond or no bond,” the frost spirit concluded.

“All right, all right,” Bunnymund relented on a huff. “Crikey, don’t go jumping down my throat.”

“Let’s get to work,” North declared. He rubbed his big hands together, a determined set to his mouth. “Tell everyone as soon as you find something. And if summons comes—”

A picture of a hand tapping a wristwatch appeared over Sandy’s head.

“— _when_ it comes,” the Russian amended, “we Guardians all go to Issitoq together, no matter what. Yes?”

Solemn but cautiously hopeful, they all voiced agreement. Watching them with deep concern reflected in his expressive eyes, Jamie Bennett thought: _It’s like they’ve already resigned themselves to accept punishment they do not deserve._

An immense wave of sadness washed over him.

_Please don’t let this go terribly wrong._

* * *

Heaving a long sigh, Cassandra removed the cloak from her shoulders and spent a few minutes meticulously folding it. The house was quiet, and had been since she’d arrived, but didn’t remain so much longer. Just as she tucked the cloak into the bottom of her backpack, where she was sure no one would go looking for it, she heard the front door open. Her sensitive nose instantly picked up the harsh scent of liquor, and as Randy stumbled down the hall towards the master bedroom he hummed and muttered nonsensically to himself. A loud thump and precarious rattling of glass, followed immediately by childish chuckling, indicated he’d walked into the side table and nearly knocked a lamp over. She shook her head in disgust. The man was absolutely plastered.

Clearly his previous insistence that nothing occur to make him look like a neglectful father only applied to what his daughter did.

Within moments of stumbling into bed, the man was snoring loudly, oblivious to the entire world. Changing quickly into her pajamas, Cassandra lay down on the couch and pulled the poor excuse of a blanket up to her chin. She was totally exhausted—it had to be close to three or four in the morning—but she just couldn’t sleep. Her mind was too full of what could have possibly set the Guardians off like that. Why did Pitch’s giving her the cloak as a gift upset them so much? Did spirits not understand the concept of a birthday gift? It wasn’t a bad thing…

Right?

She considered that, a slight frown playing across her face. She wasn’t a stupid or ignorant child; she understood the way things carried different meanings across cultures. Something amusing or playful in one country might be taken as an insult in another, just as something innocent in one place could be viewed as highly inappropriate elsewhere. Even words held entirely different meanings depending on where one went. Cassandra remembered reading somewhere that in England, cookies were called biscuits and fries were called chips, which were all completely different foods in the United States. And over there, cider was an alcoholic beverage, so it could come as a shock to some English citizens when they came to visit the States and found apple cider on a restaurant’s children’s menu.

But no matter where in the world one grew up, a birthday gift was just that: a birthday gift. Something given to mark a person’s successful passage into another year of life. No dark connotations whatsoever.

Then again…spirits weren’t humans. Perhaps in their world—in their culture, so-to-speak—a birthday gift carried far more significance.

The frown became more pronounced as Cassandra tried to recall everything the Guardians had said. They’d asked her to repeat _exactly_ what Pitch had told her, so the wording must be important.

He’d told her it was just a gift, and to think of it as a birthday gift if that was what ‘she preferred.’

“‘And did you?’”

The rabbit spirit’s words jumped back out at her, as did North’s insistence that she remember precisely what she’d said when she’d accepted the gift.

So it wasn’t just Pitch’s words that had been important, but her own as well? Had her verbalization of her acceptance somehow made official whatever it was that had transpired without her knowledge?

She suddenly sat bolt upright, the blanket slipping down to her lap. Pitch had muttered something to himself, something about not being as preemptive as he’d thought, right before he’d offered the cloak to her. Did that mean he’d been planning on tricking her all along, and had only been waiting for the opportune moment? Had his so-called gift only been a means to an end?

_And I was so flattered to receive a birthday gift I didn’t even realize what was happening. I didn’t even think twice about it possibly being a trick…_

Slumping back against the stinky pillow, Cassandra pressed her palms to her face to stifle a groan.

The rabbit spirit was right. She was really, really stupid.

Saturdays were usually the bright spot of Cassandra’s week, but that particular day she woke up far too late for swim or even her lunch date with Barb. As she nibbled a piece of wheat toast, her dad’s snoring assaulted her sensitive ears. Her face contorted with disgust and annoyance, and she decided to go see if the blonde next door would be willing to put up with her for a few hours.

If not, well…she’d just find something else to do.

Polishing off the last of her toast, she pulled the front door open only to come face-to-face with the very last person on the planet she wanted to see right now.

“Hi,” Mr. Bennett said, his surprise at having the door suddenly wrenched open gradually dissipating. Lowering the arm he’d raised (presumably to knock), he asked, “Can we talk to you?”

Her gaze flickered between the teacher and his sister, who stood at the bottom of the twin steps with her hands stuffed into her coat pockets. “Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

She blinked. Mr. Bennett’s voice had been gentle, but firm, which was rather unlike his customary light-hearted, childish demeanor. The expression on his face was incredibly serious, belying the gravity of what he’d come to discuss.

“Is this about what happened?”

“Yes.”

Glancing at Coach Sophie again, she looked Mr. Bennett in the eye and asked, “She knows?”

“She still believes,” he confirmed. “She’s one of the few of us who still do.”

Cassandra didn’t know who he meant by ‘us’, but didn’t dare ask; she was sure to get some long-winded story if she did. She didn’t bother to ask why the coach was there either, as the answer was obvious. A male teacher approaching a preteen student at home, alone, would raise a whole host of awkward questions, none of which they’d be able to answer since nobody of importance would ever believe that they’d gotten together to discuss Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and the Boogeyman. At least with female company he could avoid some of the peculiar stares.

As if on cue, the door on the other side of the duplex popped open and Barb appeared on the steps.

“Hey Cassandra, missed you this morning.” Her tone was amicable, but her green eyes were narrowed with suspicion as they fixed upon Mr. Bennett.

“I overslept,” the girl supplied offhandedly.

“I see.”

“Hello,” Mr. Bennett said, stepping towards the woman and extending his hand in greeting. “I’m Jamie Bennett, I teach at Cassandra’s school.” When Barb warily shook the offered appendage, he continued, “And this is my sister, Sophie. She’s Cassandra’s track coach.”

Something indiscernible flashed across Barb’s face. Holding firmly to Mr. Bennett’s hand, she looked past him and caught Cassandra’s gaze. “Is everything all right?” she asked, her growing concern evident.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she assured the woman.

“Where’s Randy?”

“Asleep.”

Green eyes narrowed further still, and a bit of a disapproving scowl touched her mouth. She finally released Mr. Bennett’s hand. To her neighbor’s daughter, she asked, “Have you had lunch yet?”

“I just had some toast.”

She snorted. Clearly that wasn’t a good enough answer for her. “Come on, we’ll go get a sandwich.”

Mr. Bennett opened his mouth to say something, but the blonde swiftly lifted a hand to shut him up. In an incredibly stern voice, as if speaking to a child instead of a grown man, she informed him, “I’m not going to judge you, Jamie Bennett, but I’m not going to let you and your sister wander off with this girl while her dad’s asleep, either. You three can have your private little discussion over lunch, and I’m going to sit where I can keep a close eye on you. Understood?”

Cassandra nearly smirked when she saw Mr. Bennett’s Adam’s apple bob as he gulped. Looking highly uncomfortable in the presence of the glowering, intimidating woman, he commented, “If that will make you feel more comfortable…”

“It will,” she interrupted, reaching around the door to snag her purse. “And if you try anything fishy, you’ll be lucky if the cops find you in one piece.”

* * *

Sagging back in her chair, Cassandra felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. The tuna sandwich she’d just eaten, which had actually tasted pretty good, sat heavily in her gut.

“So that’s how it is,” Mr. Bennett said quietly. Staring into the girl’s brown eyes, he said fervently, “Please understand, Cassandra, that this is an incredibly serious matter. The Guardians were only trying to help you, and they’re facing an awful lot of backlash if Pitch makes a big deal out of this.”

“They’d deserve it,” she said childishly.

“Things got out of control, nobody’s denying that. But they didn’t mean any harm.”

“They attacked me!”

“Phil mistook you for Pitch. It was a silly mistake, but you know how things go when people get upset; they say and do things that aren’t entirely rational because their emotions get in the way of logic. The Guardians and their helpers are always a bit high-strung when it comes to the Boogeyman. You may not know this, but Pitch has a reputation for being violent. He’s attacked children before, innocent children. During the Dark Ages he ruled with unbridled terror and fear, and not so long ago he attacked this very town in an attempt to destroy the Guardians and regain power.”

Cassandra looked at him, studying the firm set of his mouth. “You say that like you know.”

“I lived through it.” He gestured at Coach Sophie. “Both of us did.”

“I was really young then,” Sophie told her, “but I remember the nightmares. I remember the fear. It was Easter weekend, we were supposed to be having a good time, but nobody was, Cassandra. We were all too scared.”

“The Guardians were created during the Dark Ages to stop Pitch, and they’ve been working to keep him in check ever since. Without them, children all over the world would succumb to darkness and fear, leaving no room for hope or dreams or wonder.” His eyes grew sad. “Can you imagine that, Cassandra?” he asked quietly. “Can you imagine a world where children live every single moment of their lives, whether awake or asleep, absolutely terrified of their own shadow?”

“Shadows aren’t scary.”

“Maybe not to you, but not everyone is like you. You’re one of a kind, a true marvel in both worlds, and Pitch is going to use you in any way he possibly can. That’s why he tricked you, you know. So he can use you. The moment you accepted his gift, he succeeded in preventing the Guardians from ever being able to help you, even if he puts your life in danger.”

“He hasn’t hurt me."

She didn’t know why she’d felt compelled to say that. Probably because the moment those accusatory words left Mr. Bennett’s lips, the image of Pitch’s face—arrested by anger and indignation—as he furiously denied hurting children appeared vividly in her mind. Cassandra knew just as well as anyone that Pitch Black was a bit of a jerk, and was definitely mad that he’d deceived her after telling her point-blank that there was no catch to his gift, but even so she couldn’t stand the way Mr. Bennett was sitting there accusing the spirit of darkness of things he hadn’t even done. The Guardians had kidnapped and attacked her, but right now they were trying to manipulate her into thinking Pitch was the one in the wrong, as if their own errors didn’t matter at all.

It was a true testament to their arrogance that they didn’t recognize their own hypocrisy.

In response to her statement, Mr. Bennett assured her, “Not yet. But if there’s one thing you need to understand and believe about Pitch Black, it’s that he is purely and unconditionally self-serving. If he has to hurt you in order to benefit himself, he will do it without hesitation.”

“He won’t.”

“How do you know? Because he told you?” He scoffed. “Your being in this situation right now is due purely to his proficiency at telling lies.”

“He cannot hurt me because I am a child. He does not hurt children.”

Coach Sophie’s brows rose. Mr. Bennett eyed Cassandra quizzically. “You sound so certain.”

“You said he attacked Burgess in order to destroy the Guardians, but the only thing either of you have said about it is that he scared people. Did he actually physically hurt anyone?” When he hesitated, she pushed the point further. “Have your spirit friends ever told you that he’s hurt someone?”

“Hurt doesn’t have to be physical,” Coach Sophie pointed out in a gentle tone. “Hurt can be psychological, emotional, verbal…there are many ways of harming someone without actually touching them.”

“Pitch will do whatever he has to in order to accomplish his goal,” her brother affirmed. “He will even stoop to using and abusing a child, if that’s what it takes. He’s already begun to do that. He lured you to his home and tricked you into accepting the cloak. He lied right to your face about it, and you think he’s better than the Guardians?” He shook his head. “You just don’t know him like we do.”

“Have you ever spoken to him?”

“What?”

“Have you ever spoken to him?” Cassandra repeated evenly. Her face was carefully blank, protecting the thoughts and emotions swirling around inside her head.

Mr. Bennett frowned deeply. “Yes, when I was a child. I told him I believed in him but that I wasn’t afraid of him.”

“So that’s as far as your knowledge extends,” she concluded. “You know that he is the spirit of fear, that you do not fear him, and whatever it is the Guardians tell you.” She folded her arms. “I think I know more about him than you do.”

He eyed her warily. “What do you mean?”

“Only that I can take care of myself.” Draining the last of her soda in one big gulp, she informed the two adults, “I’m pissed that he lied to me, it’s gross that he did this as a way to control me, but it’s not like I’m in danger. I have my magic, and you said yourself that he’s not going to actually follow through with this engagement thing so I don’t have to worry about that. I don’t need the Guardians to defend me; I can do that perfectly fine on my own."

“Don’t be stupid Cassandra,” Mr. Bennett said exasperatedly, and even Sophie looked shocked at the sudden sharpness in his tone. “Magic or no, you’re just a child! A _human_ child! Pitch Black is an ancient, powerful, cunning being! If he’s managed to trick you once, he can very well do it again, and next time you may not escape so unscathed. He can _kill_ you, Cassandra, but as a spirit he is immune from such a fate. That right there proves he has every advantage over you!”

“If he wants to kill me, that’s none of your business. You’re not my father or even my teacher. I can do what I want with my own life.”

They were both stunned to hear that. Mr. Bennett’s mouth hung open as he stared at her, speechless. His sister opened her own mouth to say something, but Cassandra guessed what it was and cut her off.

“I’m not suicidal,” she said firmly. “And I don’t have a death wish. I just don’t think you or even your precious Guardians have any right to dictate what I can and cannot do.”

Mr. Bennett’s jaw snapped shut and he swallowed thickly. “We’re going to do whatever we have to, to keep you safe,” he informed her quietly, “even if you don’t want us to. It’s our responsibility.”

From the hoarseness of his voice, it was apparent his throat had gone tight, making the simple act of speech incredibly difficult for him. It seemed he’d expected this conversation to go smoothly, for her to just roll over and do what they wanted, and was completely taken aback by the fact that it wasn’t and she hadn’t. 

Cassandra sneered at him. “Don’t flatter yourself. You wouldn’t give a shit about me if your precious Guardians weren’t going to get into trouble. You’re only doing this to protect them and to make yourself feel better.”

“That’s not fair, Cassandra,” Coach Sophie said upon catching sight of her brother’s hurt expression.

“No, it’s not. It’s not fair that people keep trying to force me to do what they want when they want because it’ll bolster their own egos. At least my parents don’t try to fucking pretend that they care.”

She stood abruptly. The legs of her chair screeched sharply against the tile floor, setting her ears ringing. Glaring down at the coach and her brother, Cassandra told them, “Leave me alone. I’ll deal with Pitch on my own.”

She swept out of the restaurant. Casting a final suspicious look at the lingering pair, Barb got up from her own table towards the back of the deli and followed after her.


	7. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags for this one please.

The ride back to the duplex was completed in silence. Cassandra had been dreading the moment Barb opened her mouth and asked what her conversation with the Bennetts had been about, and was quite surprised when they made it home without the woman mentioning it once.

Maybe luck was on her side her for once.

Parking the car in the shared driveway, Barb murmured, “Did your dad go drinking last night?”

Staring glumly out the window, she gave a curt nod. There was no reason to deny it, seeing as how the woman obviously suspected what had kept man in bed past two p.m.

Nodding her own head, Barb opened the door and said, “Come on. He won’t be up ’til tomorrow so you might as well stay with me.”

Cassandra didn’t argue, just climbed out of the car, pushed the door closed with a quiet bang, and followed the blonde inside. As soon as the front door opened, the sound of muffled yapping assaulted their ears. Barney must be locked in one of the bedrooms.

“You look terrible,” Barb noted. She dropped her purse on the table and led the way to the living room. “Not enough sleep?”

The girl mumbled, “Something like that.” She collapsed in an armchair with a weary sigh.

Studying her with eyes that seemed to see far too much, Barb asked gently, “Wanna talk about it?”

Cassandra replied without hesitation. “No.”

Barney continued to bark incessantly, the sound of scratching claws as he scurried back and forth in front of the closed door grating on Cassandra’s sensitive ears. Frustrated by the events of the past few days, she didn’t take well to the added annoyance. As such, she failed to catch one of her thoughts before it tumbled past her lips.

“Why do you keep him?”

“What?” Barb asked distractedly. Over the din, she yelled, “Barney shut it!”

The dog remained quiet for literally two and a half seconds before the yapping started right back up again.

Glowering, Cassandra reiterated, “Why do you keep him when he’s so damn annoying?”

Barb laughed a little. “Well, it’s kind of a long story.”

An awkward silence hung between them, broken only by the sound of Barney’s irksome barks. Cassandra sat stiffly in her armchair, wholly unused to feeling so uncomfortable in Barb’s presence. Silences in the woman’s company were usually calm and welcoming, a soothing reprieve from the constant barrage of nosy opinions and Carol’s screeching voice, but this one was heavy with unspoken words, words that needed to be said yet felt far too private to be shared.

Eventually, the blonde woman spoke. “When did your dad get home last night?” When Cassandra refused to answer, she continued gently, “Your dad and I have been neighbors for years, Cassandra. I know he can pull off an all-nighter when he’s got a mind to, even at his age.”

The girl shifted in her seat. After a moment, she mumbled, “About four.”

Barb let out a sharp breath. Glancing at her, Cassandra saw that same disapproving scowl from earlier, when she’d first learned that Randy was still in bed, only now it was distinctly more pronounced.

Deciding it was best to smooth things over lest the woman give her dad a hard time (which would make it even harder for her to deal with him), Cassandra hastily explained, “I don’t care, honestly. It’s not like I can’t take care of myself.”

Unfortunately, her words had the opposite effect. Instead of reassuring the woman that everything was fine, her explanation made Barb’s frown deepen. “It’s not an issue of whether or not you can, Cassandra. It’s an issue of you being put in a position where you have to. You’re only eleven, still just a child.”

Those words, spoken with genuine concern, reminded Cassandra all-too-much of the conversation she’d had with Mr. Bennett. She folded her arms and muttered crossly, “So everyone keeps reminding me.”

“Being young isn’t a bad thing. That’s not what I’m saying at all. What I’m saying is that someone your age shouldn’t have to be responsible for so much. It isn’t fair to you.” She laughed very quietly. “And I’ve got a feeling you’re keeping an awful lot of things secret. That’s why those teachers came here today, isn’t it?”

She grew quiet again, and Cassandra was immensely grateful Barb was willing to let the matter drop.

Barney’s barking grew weaker and more sporadic, until at long last, he gave up and shut his stupid mouth. When more than a minute passed without a single yip from the mongrel, Barb chuckled again.

“Thank God for small favors.”

Cassandra didn’t say anything, and Barb didn’t either for a time. They were too engrossed in their own private thoughts. Cassandra, for her part, was brooding over the situation she’d found herself in with the spirit world and how she ought to go about confronting Pitch Black. She supposed it was partly her own fault for believing his lies, but that didn’t make her feel any less angry over what had happened.

 _I finally get a birthday present and it’s got black strings attached,_ she thought miserably, though she was careful to keep anything but a scowl from appearing on her face. _I really can’t win, can I?_

“He was my boyfriend’s.”

Cassandra blinked. She stared at Barb, but the woman was gazing off into the corner, her eyes slightly glazed as if she were lost in ruminations. “What?” she asked, not entirely sure she’d heard right.

“Barney,” Barb clarified. “He was my ex’s dog. His sister breeds Chihuahuas, and she gave him a puppy one year as a thank you for helping her family out with some house repairs. He hates lap dogs, but didn’t feel right giving him away, either. Said it would be like slapping his sister in the face. So his care just sort of fell onto me.”

“And when you broke up, he just dumped him onto you,” Cassandra guessed.

Barb finally looked at her, and the girl was startled to see such deep sadness in the woman’s green eyes.

“Omar and I were together for nearly eight years. I loved him deeply, and I know he loved me just as much, but in the end our affection wasn’t enough to prevent what happened.”

“He cheated?”

“No. To be completely honest with you, I almost wish he had.”

Cassandra frowned. What could this ‘Omar’ have possibly done to make Barb—a woman who brooked little nonsense—actually wish he’d cheated?

Barb shifted, tucking her legs up onto the couch beside her. “People say love is by far the strongest emotion you can feel; every time I hear that, I can’t decide if I want to laugh or tell them to quit being stupid. Anger, fear, hate, pain, sadness…those can be much, much more powerful than love. If they weren’t, you’d have far fewer breakups and divorces, I think.”

Cassandra didn’t know what to say to that, so she just kept quiet and let the woman talk.

“Things between Omar and I ended rather…abruptly. We were together for a long time, and I was under the impression our relationship was proceeding as well as it could. We argued on occasion, nothing serious, and as silly as it may sound I’d spent quite a bit of time picturing what we’d look like growing old together. I was happy. Very happy. And I thought Omar was too.

“Then…one night…he came home from work and told me he was done.” Her voice grew thick, the emotional wounds still very raw. “Obviously I was shocked. I had no idea what could’ve happened for him to say that. I cried, I shouted, I screamed. I tried reasoning and pleading. Nothing worked. All he had to say was that he couldn’t stand being with me anymore, that he hated living in that house with me and wouldn’t put up with it a second longer. He packed up a single bag, that’s all, and within fifteen minutes he was gone.

“Naturally I was devastated. I had no idea where any of it had come from. How could a man who supposedly hated me put up with me for so long? How could he have pretended to be happy instead of just telling me the truth? How could I have been so blind as to not notice his misery? It really cut me to think that someone I loved and trusted unconditionally could keep such a massive secret from me. I felt like our entire relationship had been built on lies, and couldn’t help but wonder ‘Why’? _Why_ didn’t he tell me? Had I said something, done something maybe, to make him think he couldn’t trust me? What did I do wrong? It…it was an incredibly difficult time for me, to say the least.”

Barb drew a breath. “I sold the house and moved here. Barney was the only thing of his that I kept; I couldn’t stand to look at anything else, it was just too painful. It hurt to look at that dog too, but I convinced myself it would be cruel to give him up because nobody else would ever adopt the miserable old bastard.” She managed a weak chuckle at her own joke. “Miserable… _I_ was miserable, and completely blamed myself for what had happened. No matter how often I replayed the events of that night inside my head, I just couldn’t understand how or why things ended that way. As far as I knew, we had been happy together, so the only logical explanation was that something was very wrong with me, something I was hopelessly unaware of. I put on a strong face for everyone, including my family, but inside I was broken.

“Then, out of the blue, he calls me. More than a year of silence, a year of struggling to piece myself back together, and he suddenly calls me. I almost hung up on him, but something in his voice stopped me. He wasn’t crying, but I could tell he was struggling not to. He told me he was in a mental health clinic in Maryland. He was struggling with severe depression, and had been for quite some time. I think about ten or twelve months before he left was when he said he first started to feel it. Anyway…he told me the day he left me, he’d planned on killing himself.”

Cassandra stiffened. Why the hell was Barb telling her this?

“He never said what it was that stopped him from following through with his plan, and I didn’t ask. It didn’t seem right to ask something like that. He did tell me, though, that he’d thought a bad breakup would be far easier on me than finding him dead or planning a funeral. That was why he was such an ass about it.

“Anyway… He checked himself into the hospital the morning after we broke up, and had been in and out of care ever since. He told me several therapists had instructed him to call me, saying we needed to talk things out in order to put the past behind us, but he’d never been able to pluck up the courage until then. He said…” She paused, drew a calming breath, and continued. “He said he didn’t blame me for anything that had happened, so I shouldn’t blame myself, either. He said he’d kept his depression a secret for so long because he was ashamed of it, that he’d secretly hoped that it wasn’t really as bad as he thought and that it would just go away after a while. By the time he realized how bad it actually was…it was far too late.”

Barb finally looked at her, and when she did, Cassandra was startled by the sheer intensity of that green gaze. It was like the woman was staring right through her flesh and bones, straight into her very soul.

“That’s the nature of darkness, Cassandra. It takes you slowly, so slowly that most times you don’t even know what’s happening. Then the demons start to come out, but by then you’re so helplessly trapped you can’t escape even if you want to. It was like that for Omar. He believed he could overcome those wretched emotions, and the realization that he couldn’t nearly came too late. It was only by the power of some saving grace that he didn’t take his own life that night. Not everyone is so lucky. Some fall too hard, and are swallowed up quickly. Others are tortured and tormented by their demons to the bitter, bitter end. Depression, mental illness, addiction…they’re all like that.

“I worry about you, Cassandra,” she continued, still staring unblinkingly into wide brown eyes. “You’re a good girl, but the way you act frightens me sometimes. You act as if nothing affects you, like your emotions are dead, like you couldn’t care less about what happens to you. You’ve been all over town, but I’ve never seen you with friends. You go out in the middle of the night, in December, with no coat on. I had to practically break your arm to get you to join the track team, and you never talk about it except to say its ‘fine’. Your dad disappears for an entire night and you don’t ask about where he’s at, not even once. Now you’ve got teachers showing up at your doorstep.”

She shook her head, still not taking her eyes off the girl before her. “I’m not telling you what to do,” she said softly. “I won’t pretend to be your mother or to know what’s best for you. But do try to find peace with yourself, one way or another. Please. As young as you are, if you can’t find some sort of happiness then you’re going to have a hell of a time enduring this life, and I don’t want that sort of end for you. I wouldn’t wish such torment on my worst enemy.”

Cassandra didn’t have a clue what to say to a story (not to mention a speech) like that, so she did the sensible thing and kept her mouth shut. She got to her feet and, without saying a word, retreated to the spare bedroom and closed the door with a quiet snap. Sitting there on the edge of the bed, Cassandra brooded over everything Barb had said, struggling to understand exactly what the woman had been trying to tell her.

* * *

A gentle gust of wind guided Jack into North’s globe room, where the big man stood gazing up at the night sky. He landed lightly and asked, “Anything?”

“No.” The Russian turned his head slightly to glance at the frost spirit. “You?”

He shook his head. It wasn’t as if he’d expected to have some big breakthrough after only one night, but the results thus far were still disappointing.

North sighed quietly. “It’s still early. We will find something.”

Both spirits’ attention gravitated towards the opening in the ceiling high above the globe. The patch of visible sky was dotted with stars, and faintly illuminated by the tiniest sliver of silver moon.

“What did Manny say?” Jack inquired.

The answer he received was far from the one he’d expected.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?!” Jack couldn’t believe it. He stared between the moon and the Guardian of Wonder, hoping against hope that this was some sort of sick joke. “Not about the kid? Or Pitch? The bond? _Anything_?”

“Been trying for hours,” North rumbled. His blue eyes were still fixed upon the sky, and there was a definite mixture of sadness and worry in his gaze. “Manny won’t answer.”

Jack fixed the barely visible crescent moon with an accusatory look. “Now’s not the time to go all silent again, Manny!” he called. “We really need your help!”

Of course, Manny didn’t answer. The Man in the Moon never did seem to ever have time or care for Jack. It made him feel hurt and sick and bitterly angry all at once.

“Why?” he hissed under his breath. “Why does he always do this? Why can’t he just give us a straight answer for once?”

“Manny always has reason Jack,” North advised in a gentle tone. “With matter this important, with child in danger, he would say something if he could, no?”

Jack swallowed a harsh retort and nodded stiffly instead. “I suppose.” North was right of course. This wasn’t like before, when Manny wouldn’t speak to Jack about why he’d become a spirit; a child’s life was in danger, and from none other than Pitch Black, the Nightmare King. As leader and creator of the Guardians of Childhood, Manny’s duty was to see to the protection of Earth’s children. For him to refuse to help in this case, something had to be going on, something that forced Manny to keep his silence.

Jack frowned as he pondered that. What sort of power was at play if even the Man in the Moon was hesitant to speak up? “Do you think he’s worried about Pitch filing a grievance?” Issitoq was certainly powerful enough to foil Manny if pushed to do so.

“Don’t think so.” North scratched his beard. “I don’t know what it could be.”

Jack glanced around as a particular detail struck him suddenly. “Where’s Sandy?”

“Went to see some friends, spirits you and Bunny don’t know. He thinks they may know stories.”

“Oh.” Jack shuffled his feet. There’d been an awful lot on his mind the past few hours, and there were a few things in particular he wanted to get off his chest.

“Listen,” he said, “about what happened. You know…attacking the kid and all. I honestly thought it was Pitch, otherwise I wouldn’t have—”

One large hand lifted, effectively silencing the younger Guardian before he could finish.

“No apologies,” North told him. “Was big misunderstanding.”

Eyes fixed on the impeccably clean floor, Jack mumbled, “Yeah…I get myself into a lot of those.”

If he was completely honest with himself, it was rather humiliating to be the cause of so many problems. Innocent tricks and fun pranks aside, Jack often felt like he created more problems than he solved. There hadn’t been any major incidences since that last mess with Pitch more than two decades ago, but recent events had successfully resurrected all those old insecurities. He was personally responsible for the failure of not one, but two Easters (’68 being the first), was almost entirely at fault for Sandy’s near-death experience (after all, he’d run off to deal with the Nightmares without waiting for the others, presenting the Boogeyman with the perfect opportunity to strike) and for nearly causing the four original Guardians to be forgotten forever. 

And now, here he was again, causing trouble for acting without thinking things through.

North, noticing his pained expression, put a comforting hand on Jack’s shoulder. “We all make mistakes,” he said quietly, bending lower to gaze deep into the frost spirit’s eyes. “Last night was proof of that, no?” A small but incredibly warm smile quirked his mouth. “And Bunny will always be Bunny.”

In spite of his previous gloom, Jack managed a small laugh. North’s blue eyes twinkled. 

“The past is past,” the big man continued. “And tomorrow will be tomorrow. Don’t let mistakes bother you, just try to do better. Yes?”

Jack nodded, feeling a little better. Strange, how something so simple could be so powerful.

With a flutter of fairy wings, Tooth Fairy arrived.

“Hi,” she gasped. “Can’t stay long, we’ve got a surplus!”

“One of those nights, huh?” Jack said with a grin.

She nodded a pleasant acknowledgement before addressing North. “I watched Cassandra’s memories. I didn’t see anything significant. Nothing she hasn’t already told us, anyway.” The words flew off her tongue in rapid succession, proving just how much of a hurry she was in. “She was telling the truth about Pitch. She only met him recently, and he seems to be just as much in the dark about her powers as we are.”

Immensely satisfied with that answer, North replied, “Good. Means we still have time.”

“I also think—though it’s mostly my personal assumption—that she holds some respect for Sandy, even after what happened last night. At the very least, she admires his powers, which is more than I can say for how she feels about the rest of us, including Jamie.”

“Hmmm…” North mused, rubbing his large belly thoughtfully. “Perhaps we let Sandy speak to her, then, on our behalf.”

“That’s a good idea,” Jack said honestly. As the calmest and most rational Guardian, it made sense for Sandy to speak for them. In fact, it would work distinctly to their advantage.

Grim-faced, Tooth continued, “There’s something else I think I ought to tell you guys. Cassandra, she…she’s been terribly neglected.” Both the Guardian of Fun and the Guardian of Wonder stiffened. “Not abused, as far as I can tell, at least not physically, but she’s practically had to raise herself. She’s only in Burgess because her mother threatened to put her into foster care if her father didn’t take her in.”

Jack sucked in a sharp breath. “That’s why she doesn’t believe,” he stated, his voice pitched low due to his growing anger and indignation. “She’s never been given a reason to hope or wonder or dream.”

North shook his head sadly. “A lost child.” He squared his shoulders. “We must help her. We _must_.”

“I’ll go back and help Bunny,” Jack announced. The faster and smoother Easter preparations went, the sooner he and the Pooka could focus on helping their friends figure out what was going on with this poor human girl.

Nodding his goodbyes to the others, he flew up through the open ceiling. Casting a single backward glance at the tiny moon, he shook his head slightly to disperse any lingering doubts. Manny always had a reason for keeping quiet, didn’t he? Even if they didn’t understand it now, he was sure they’d figure it out sooner or later.

Spurred on by Wind, Jack sped towards the Warren, determined to be of assistance no matter how loudly Bunnymund insisted he didn’t need or want the frost spirit’s help.

* * *

As soon as Barb turned in for the night, Cassandra slipped into the shadows. Leaving the duplex far behind, she rematerialized once she was in the forest and strode purposefully towards the hole that led to Pitch’s home. She’d only been there once, and there were no black sand horses to guide her this time, but she clearly remembered where it lay. Besides, thanks to her shadow magic, it was impossible to miss. The darkness inside that seemingly bottomless place beckoned to her, cried out for her presence like a lover bereft, and she dropped into the darkness without hesitation. After navigating the cave-like entrance with ease, she soon emerged in the decimated entrance room filled with broken rock and empty black cages.

“Pitch!” she called angrily. The cloak he’d given her was still neatly folded, tucked under one arm. When she received no answer, she grew even more frustrated and angry. Her next summons was little more than a bark. “Pitch!”

“My, my, what is this?”

He appeared from the gloom high above her head, standing on a broken walkway. He leaned over the edge to gaze down upon her, a smile on his lips. Glaring up at him, Cassandra quickly employed her power so she could stand before him, refusing to deal with this on anything less than even ground.

He smirked at the brazen display. “You invite yourself into my home and make casual use of my own shadows.” His voice descended into an amused purr. “How very bold.”

“Take it back,” she commanded, thrusting the cloak towards him.

He quirked a brow. “Why?”

“You know damn well why,” she snapped. “Take it back!”

“No,” he said simply, grinning devilishly at his ability to deny her.

“You take this damn thing back,” she growled, her hands and voice starting to shake. Crap. She was getting emotional again. She struggled to suppress it, but without the calming effects of the cloak it was extremely difficult, almost impossible in fact. So much had happened over the past few days, she was just too tired and stressed and upset and hurt and betrayed to act rationally right now.

“You should be thanking me,” Pitch told her smoothly. “Thanks to me, the Guardians can’t bother you anymore.”

“I’m more than capable of dealing with my own problems.” Why did everyone seem to think she needed help? The Guardians, Mr. Bennett, Barb and Coach Sophie… Even Pitch Black, the Nightmare King, was now sticking his ugly snubbed nose into her business.

Pitch’s smirk broadened at her statement. “Are you? I wouldn’t have thought so, considering how easily you accepted my gift.”

Cassandra lost it. She lashed out at him with ice and snow, the frigid blast forcing him to fly across the room on a hastily summoned cloud of black nightmare sand. Throwing the cloak aside, Cassandra charged after him on her wind. Again and again she attacked, taking out her pent-up frustration and rage on the spirit of fear and shadow. He laughed at first, ducking and dodging her frost, the broken pillars and crumbling walls serving as excellent shields. But then she caught him unawares, guessing where he was headed and successfully cutting him off. The look of shock on his face didn’t delight her as it otherwise would’ve; she was still far too angry to find anything amusing. Without wasting a second, she summoned all her magic and sent a concentrated blast of razor sharp ice shards right towards him, purposefully aiming for that smug gray face.

He vanished into a shadow at the last possible second. Ice shattered against a pile of rock, spraying blue-white crystals everywhere. She finally spotted him on a distant path, golden eyes narrowed as he glared at her.

“You should be grateful!” The words echoed loudly in the stark silence of his empty home. As Cassandra flew furiously towards him, he continued in an aggravated tone, “Things will be much easier now that the Guardians are off your back!”

She froze in mid-air. Hanging suspended by the wind, she asked guardedly, “What do you mean?”

He chuckled. The sound was quite sinister, and made even more so by an ominous echo. “Oh, if only I could tell you,” he said silkily. Every single one of his sharp teeth became visible as he grinned hugely. “I think you’d like it.”

Cassandra frowned as she puzzled over what he meant. Then her brows lifted, eyes growing slightly round. “You found something, didn’t you?” The words escaped in a rush, the combination of exertion and growing excitement leaving her somewhat breathless. “You know why I have my magic!”

He spared her but a single cunning glance before turning smoothly away. “I told you: You’d be surprised by what I know.”

She flew to the broken path in all haste, panting slightly as she landed and became completely solid once more. Pitch was walking away from her, hands clasped behind his back.

“What’s this about, Pitch?” she inquired. “What does your tricking me have to do with my power?”

“Ah, so many questions,” he sighed, pretending not to care about her growing interest.

“Tell me.” She leapt lightly down the walkway and slipped around the Nightmare King, effectively stopping his lazy stroll. Boldly meeting his golden gaze, she insisted, “Tell me what you know.”

“Can’t,” he replied with a wicked smile. “But I truly wish I could. You don’t know how _badly_ I want to see your reaction.”

She didn’t like his tone at all. He sounded so positively delighted by whatever it was he knew, and she recognized that smile. It was the same smile he wore whenever he knew she’d be deeply upset or disturbed by whatever it was he wanted to share with her.

Her fists clenched at her sides. “Tell me,” she repeated quietly. 

He huffed a sigh, annoyed by her stubbornness. “I already told you I can’t. Did your visit with the Guardians make you lose your fantastic rabbit ears?”

“You know about that?”

“You wouldn’t be down here shouting at me unless _somebody_ spilled my little secret.” He stared down at her from his incredible height, golden eyes slightly narrowed. “If you want to be angry, be angry with them. They’re just as much a part of this as I am, only they wouldn’t know how to play by the rules. I had no choice but to mark you in order to keep my hand in this.”

“In _what_?” Cassandra snarled. This was growing more complicated by the second, and he was supposed to be giving her answers! “What sort of game are you playing at?!”

“This is no game.” Every last trace of his smile had vanished. “I’m only doing my part to ensure I get what I rightfully deserve.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

Pitch opened his mouth, but no words came out. Instead of replying to her snarky retort, something deeply disturbing happened. The gold color of his eyes brightened briefly before fading again, like a flash, and something that Cassandra could only describe as pain flickered across his face. His jaw snapped shut, and in the time it took her to ask “Are you okay?” his trademark smirk was back.

“Of course,” he replied.

She stared at him, taking in his calm expression while her mind raced.

_The hell was that?! The hell just happened?!_

As soon as her shell-shocked brain managed to sort through the rather short list of possibilities, her lips parted as her jaw sagged weakly.

 _He can’t. He physically_ can’t _tell me what this is all about. Someone…or something…is stopping him!_

“What’s the matter?” Pitch inquired. It took Cassandra a moment to realize she’d taken a step back from him. She gaped openly, struck dumb by the implications of what she’d just understood.

_Who could it be? Who could have the power to prevent the Nightmare King from speaking about my magic?_

Drawing a breath, she fought to regain her composure and won. Safely behind her indifferent mask once more, she studied the Boogeyman carefully. If she was to get to the bottom of this, she would have to keep her wits about her; she’d already embarrassed herself by growing emotional, and it was becoming clearer by the second that she would lose far more than her pride if she continued to act irrationally.

“How long have you known the truth?” she finally asked. If he’d been lying to her this entire time, pretending to be ignorant just to manipulate her and make her malleable to his whims…

“Oh, I’d had my suspicions, of course, but I didn’t receive confirmation until last night,” he replied. She could tell he was speaking the truth.

“And how, precisely, did you confirm those suspicions?”

He stood there, smiling down at her, and said nothing.

“Something else you can’t tell me?” Her eyes narrowed. “Or won’t?”

“Would it anger you less if I said it was the former rather than the latter?”

“Not really.”

“Then it doesn’t really matter which is the case, does it?”

Cassandra had to take another calming breath to keep from snapping at him. He was trying to aggravate her on purpose, though she couldn’t tell if he was attempting to divert her attention away from something important or if Pitch was just being Pitch.

 _All these secrets and riddles… I just wanna know what’s going on! It’s_ my _magic, dammit, why can’t I just get a straight answer?!_

She thought hard. “If you can’t tell me,” she said after a time, “does that mean the Guardians won’t be able to tell me, either, even if they figure it out?”

He didn’t answer, which she took for a yes.

“So how the hell am I supposed to figure this out if no one will tell me anything?” she growled, deeply frustrated by the entire predicament.

“Don’t worry,” Pitch said silkily. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“From who? The moon?”

He chuckled. “Funny you should say that…”

She wondered at his reaction. “What? Don’t tell me the moon is a spirit too.”

“Not the moon, per se.”

“So…what, there’s a spirit on the moon?”

“More or less.”

“And can they tell me about my magic?”

“No.”

In spite of her best efforts, she was starting to lose patience again. She nearly shouted, “Why not?!”

“As leader of the Guardians, his influence is strictly forbidden in this matter. That means no discussions with you…or with them.”

“So he can’t tell them, either?”

“Not unless he wants to be punished,” Pitch purred. He was thoroughly enjoying whatever scheme all these spirits—and one unsuspecting human—had found themselves entrapped in.

Cassandra rubbed her aching temples. “Can you at least tell me what I’m supposed to get out of all of this? Or am I just some poor sap who got stuck with the short end of the stick?”

Pitch laughed again. “I think you’ll appreciate what’s in store for you.” He moved around her at last to continue his stroll up the crumbling walkway. Without looking back, he called smugly, “In fact, I _know_ you’ll like it. It’s something you’ve wanted for a long time.”

She emitted a disbelieving snort. “How would you know what I want?”

She could hear the grin in his voice, even if she couldn’t see it on his face. “I can easily guess, based upon your fear.”

“I’m not scared of anything.”

“No,” he acknowledged. “You’re not scared. Not of childish things anyway. But you _are_ afraid of something. I know. It’s one thing I always know.” He turned his head to smirk over one black-robed shoulder. “Your biggest fear, the one thing you dread most in the entire world, is that you will never be happy.”

“So is yours.

The words were incredibly childish, said only because she couldn’t come up with any sensible rebuff on the fly, and yet they stopped Pitch dead in his tracks. He spun around to face her, his eyes so very wide and startled Cassandra actually shrank back reflexively. She hadn’t been expecting that reaction at all. Why on earth would he…?

Wait… Biggest fear… Something he always knew…

Could it be…?

Slowly, tentatively, Cassandra summoned the magic that fueled her shadows and nightmare sand. As it filled her consciousness, she concentrated hard on Pitch Black and realized…

…she was right.

* * *

The muffled thumps of dropped parcels and a stifled curse heralded Sophie’s arrival. Jamie shook his head at his sister’s clumsiness. Even in adulthood, she just couldn’t get from Point A to Point B without tripping or dropping something. It had annoyed him as a kid, the way her melodramatic whimpers always snapped up their mom’s attention, but as they grew older he’d come to realize that she wasn’t faking it in the least. She actually was that clumsy. With understanding came unprecedented empathy…and amusement. He smiled weakly as Sophie picked up the scattered grocery bags and dropped them onto the table.

“Here,” she gasped, pushing blonde bangs out of her eyes. Groceries deposited, she held out her hand with a “give me” gesture. “Money.”

He pushed the two twenty dollar bills on the table towards her.

“Thanks.”

As she pocketed the money, Jamie finally spoke. “What did you think of lunch?”

Sophie quirked eyebrow. The two of them hadn’t been able to discuss the matter previously, as Jamie had been called to a last-minute meeting soon after their lunch plans. Unable to go to the store as he’d originally planned, he texted his sister to ask if she’d pick up some groceries for him, figuring they could always talk about what happened when she stopped by.

“Well,” she said with a long sigh, “it was definitely interesting.”

“I can’t believe she honestly thinks she can deal with him on her own,” her brother muttered. He shook his head exasperatedly. “Isn’t that what got her into this mess in the first place? Why can’t she see that we’re just trying to help her? Why is she so stubborn?”

Sophie laughed, startling him tremendously. “She’s eleven, Jamie.” When he stared at her, flabbergasted, she reached over the table to pat him on the shoulder, a knowing smile on her lips. “They’re all like that.”

Jamie huffed indignantly. “Well, if she thinks I’m going to just sit back and let that wretched spirit walk all over her and play her like a guitar, then she’s got another thing coming. Sooner or later she’s going to understand that—"

There was a bright flash, temporarily blinding the two humans. Sophie shrieked and Jamie’s chair clattered to the floor as he stood up suddenly, knocking the seat clean over. Completely by reflex he grabbed for her, his every instinct screaming at him to protect his sister. 

The gesture was unnecessary, however. Once they’d blinked away the stars behind their eyelids, they saw that they weren’t in any danger at all. Rather, a very strange spirit had suddenly appeared in Jamie Bennett’s kitchen.

Her face twisted with shock and mild disgust, Sophie nearly yelled into her brother’s ear, “What the hell is that?!”

Wide-eyed and partially deafened, Jamie shook his head. He’d never seen anything like it before in his life. It was a lidless blue eye, about the size of his fist. It had no visible mouth yet was audibly panting, sagging exhaustedly in mid-air as tiny bat-like wings flapped feebly to keep it airborne. It had stick-like arms and legs, each about six inches long and tipped with tiny hands and feet, giving it an even more bizarre appearance than its utter lack of a body did. Surely appendages that slim couldn’t hold _anything,_ let alone that great big eye.

“Hello,” he greeted hesitantly. Having no idea what sort of spirit it could be, or whether it was even benign, he figured that was the safest possible thing to utter.

Shaking itself out of its stupor, the spirit turned its single eye towards him. It stared for a moment, seeming to search for something in the human male’s face, before it lifted one thin arm and passed him a scroll.

“Thank you,” Jamie said, completely lacking anything better to say. It felt like his mind had turned into mush.

Without uttering a single word, the spirit vanished, leaving the two humans alone once more.

“The hell was that?” she asked breathlessly.

“I don’t know,” he replied softly, staring at the scroll in his hand. How could they see a spirit they didn’t believe in? It couldn’t be one of the Guardians’ assistants, of that he was absolutely certain. So then why was it coming to his house, giving them things?

The scroll weighed next to nothing, and yet it felt like it bore an incredible heft. Perhaps it was the importance he knew it carried. He didn’t know much about the spirit world—the Guardians were loath to speak of anything beyond their own selves or Pitch, out of respect for others—but he suspected that this wasn’t a good sign. The crisp paper was bound shut with an unfamiliar wax seal, the old-world formality all-but confirming Jamie’s growing worry.

He lifted a hand, but Sophie clapped one of her own to his wrist. “Don’t,” she warned.

Jamie looked at her. “Don’t what? Open it? It’s obviously important.”

She shook her head firmly. Jamie couldn’t really blame his sister for her reluctance. She still believed in spirits, yes, but that was not of her own volition. In fact, it was entirely her brother’s fault. It had been virtually impossible for her to forget about the Guardians when he constantly spoke of them, his stories keeping the memories fresh in her mind no matter how badly she’d wanted to forget. The spirit world was trouble, in her opinion. Far more trouble than it was worth. She held a bit of a soft spot for Bunnymund, even after all these years, but had still decided when she hit ninth grade that if she couldn’t forget, then she would do her damnedest to keep a strict distance between herself and anything even remotely otherworldly. She’d only agreed to go along with Jamie to meet Cassandra Fisher because her brother had convinced her that the matter was urgent, and now, looking deep into her eyes, Jamie could see that Sophie was starting to deeply regret immersing herself in that life again.

“Don’t worry,” he quietly assured her. “It’ll be all right. You’ll see.”

She didn’t look convinced at all, but that was because he didn’t sound overly convincing. With trembling fingers, Jamie carefully broke the wax seal and unrolled the scroll. He read the first couple of words and his eyes practically bulged out of his head.

“What is it?” Sophie asked, alarmed. “What does it say?”

Pale-faced, Jamie read to her in a strained, hoarse voice. “‘By the order of the Great Adjudicating Eye, the humans Jamie Bennett and his sister, Sophie Bennett, are hereby…” He paled further still, until his skin color could rival Jack’s. He swallowed thickly before continuing, the words weak and trembling. “‘…are hereby forbidden from having any contact with the human child Cassandra Fisher except in matters deemed absolutely necessary under the provisions of their mortal employment. Any matter associated with the magic possessed by said child, or with the existence, character and/or actions of the spirit Pitch Black, the Nightmare King, are not to be discussed by them with any human or spirit until permission is expressly granted by this judiciary body.

“‘Furthermore, the humans Jamie Bennett and Sophie Bennett are strictly forbidden from having any form of contact with Jack Frost, Nicholas St. North, E. Aster Bunnymund, Toothiana, and Sandman, known collectively as the Guardians of Childhood, until such notice is given that the present order has been retracted.

“‘Any and all provisions enclosed within this order have been enacted due to the biased, unsolicited influence the humans Jamie Bennett and Sophie Bennett sought to impart upon the child Cassandra Fisher on behalf of the Guardians of Childhood. Failure to comply with these commands will result in the humans Jamie Bennett and Sophie Bennett losing the rights and privileges bestowed upon them by their unprecedented belief.’”

As he finally trailed to a stop, Sophie breathed his name. “Jamie…?”

She sounded hurt, confused…and scared. Very scared. If he was completely honest with himself, Jamie was scared, too.

“If we try to help Cassandra or speak to the Guardians,” he whispered, “Issitoq will use magic to make us forget about the spirit world. We’ll lose our belief, and never see or hear from any of them ever again.”


	8. Confusion and Concern

It came as an immense surprise to the Guardians when the next few weeks passed with absolutely no word from Ikiaq. Easter came and went without incident, not even a chance sighting of the Nightmare King. On the one hand, Bunnymund was pleased have his holiday succeed without a hitch, especially when he’d been expecting the absolute worst. On the other hand, though, all five Guardians knew that such peaceful nights did not bode well. Whatever Pitch Black had planned, this was simply the calm before an unrelenting, all-consuming storm.

Nevertheless, they used the façade of serenity to their advantage. Or, at least, they attempted to: they asked every spirit they knew and trusted; they scoured hundreds if not thousands of books and scrolls; they discussed and debated and picked each other’s brains…all to no avail. No one knew anything about human magic (many openly laughed at the very idea of such a thing), and no matter how wild or creative the Guardians became with their brainstorming, no single idea could explain Cassandra’s existence, her odd assortment of powers, Pitch’s involvement _and_ Manny’s stubborn silence. Each thing on its own was an enigma; put them all together and it created an impossible mystery.

Further compounding the problem (and the Guardians’ growing anxiety) was the fact that they’d suddenly lost all contact with Jamie. The fairies were the first to notice something was amiss. They spotted him out and about town one night and fluttered down to say hi, as they always did, only to be completely ignored. It was as if the human couldn’t see or hear them, even when they flew right in front of his face and twittered with all their might. Tooth Fairy eventually tried to go see him personally, so as to assure her helpers that nothing was wrong, but found her way blocked by powerful magic.

“His apartment’s completely sealed,” she reported to the other Guardians. Only Sandy was absent; he was still out meeting with whatever spirits he had connections with. “I can’t get in, and neither can my fairies. We can’t even open a window.”

Frowning, North pulled a snow globe from his coat pocket (said garment being slung over the back of a nearby chair), shook it, and smashed it against the ground. Color and light swirled for a brief moment before spluttering out, the portal having failed to open.

“Strange…” he murmured.

“I’ll go,” Bunny offered, and promptly rapped his foot against the workshop floor. Nothing happened. Frowning deeply, he tried again. And again. “I can’t,” he said thickly. His large foot pounded heavily against the polished wood over and over again, each attempt more desperate than the last. “I can’t get inside!”

“I’ll go,” Jack said, but just as he made to fly off, Bunny heaved a sigh. A tunnel had finally appeared.

“Out in the street in front of his apartment,” he informed the others. He waved to Jack. “Come on, quick! Let’s go see what this is all about!”

“Call us if there’s trouble!” North called as they disappeared into the hole.

They emerged on a dimly-lit street. Jack immediately flew up to Jamie’s doorway and tried the knob. He wrenched his hand back with a gasp. There was a powerful magical barrier surrounding his friend’s apartment, just as Tooth had said. It completely blocked him from entering, and shocked him like an electrical current if he tried.

There was only one spirit in existence who could isolate a human like this…but why would he target Jamie? He hadn’t done anything wrong!

“Jamie?” Concerned about alarming any kids who might be living in the adjacent apartments, Jack struggled to keep calm as he called out as loud as he dared. “Jamie! You okay?”

“Jack,” Bunny cautioned, but the frost spirit wasn’t listening. He flew in all haste to the nearest window and tried to peer inside, but couldn’t see a thing.

“Jamie?!” he cried, growing increasingly desperate. “Why aren’t you answering?! Are you okay? Jamie!”

“Jack!”

The tone of Bunny’s voice caught his attention that time. Jack’s head whipped around, only to see the Pooka staring up at the roof, his mouth set into a grim line. He craned his neck and felt his stomach drop when he spotted what Bunny was looking at.

One of Issitoq’s Watchful Eyes was perched on the very edge of the roof, staring impassively down at the two Guardians.

“Come on,” Bunnymund quietly advised. He opened a tunnel to take them back to the Pole, but instead of heading for it Jack sped off in the opposite direction. “Jack!” the Pooka shouted after him. “ _Jack_!”

Anger burned like acid inside Jack’s stomach. Silencing Manny was one thing, the moon spirit could take care of himself; manipulating a child was worse, but it was just Pitch’s nature to use and abuse people. But _this_? This was beyond excusable, and Jack wasn’t about to stand for it.

“Jack!” The Guardian of Hope bounded along Burgess’ nearly-empty streets, dodging the occasional car and leaping over garbage cans and street benches in his attempt to keep up. “Stop this Jack! This ain’t gonna help!”

Jack could barely hear him over the pounding in his ears. He couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to…and he _didn’t_ want to. Pitch was the cause of this. He knew it. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that the wretched excuse of a spirit was personally responsible for Jamie’s being silenced and isolated like a prisoner. How could he do such a thing? How could Pitch punish Jamie when he hadn’t done anything wrong? And how could Issitoq go along with such a horrid scheme?!

Well if no one else was going to stand up for Jamie, then Jack would!

“Jack!”

Again ignoring the desperate Pooka, Jack darted down into the opening that led to Pitch’s realm. Bunny skidded to a halt along the edge, ears pulled taut against his head. For a terrible moment, he was deeply torn between the knowledge that going down into the Nightmare King’ s domain was suicide and the overwhelming need to protect an emotional Jack from his own irrationality. But friendship swiftly won over self-preservation, and he leapt after the hysterical frost spirit, who was busy shouting into the gloom: “Pitch! Pitch! Pitch Black, you come out and face me!”

“Jack,” Bunny repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. His voice echoed in the quiet despite his best attempts to keep a low profile. If Pitch wasn’t here, there was a small chance they could escape without the Boogeyman ever knowing they were there. “Come on, Jack, let’s get outta here before—”

Deep, sinister chuckling silenced him. It echoed throughout the room, making it impossible for either spirit to tell exactly where it was coming from. They both dropped into defensive stances, Bunnymund looking extremely nervous while Jack appeared quite livid.

“Pitch!” the frost spirit barked, brandishing his staff aggressively. “You black-hearted snake! How could you do this?!”

“My, my, what a temper,” Pitch cooed. He still hadn’t materialized, making every single shadow incredibly suspect. “Are you sure you’re all right, Jack? You don’t look well at all.”

“Why did you do that to Jamie?!”

“Who?”

Jack’s naturally pale complexion darkened with rage. “Don’t play stupid! I know it was you! You filed grievance against him, didn’t you?!”

“Why in the name of darkness would I do that?”

His voice was smooth and calm, the epitome of innocent bewilderment. Deep down, Jack knew the Nightmare King was purposefully toying with him, but such understanding did nothing to calm him down. This was Jamie, his longtime friend, who was being used like a pawn and toyed with like some wretched plaything. The human deserved so much better than that after everything he’d done for the Guardians.

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” he choked out. Hot angry tears were starting to pool up inside his eyes. He blinked them back, absolutely refusing to break down in front of this spirit. “It was absolutely uncalled for, for you to involve him in this!”

“Didn’t you involve him first?”

Pitch finally emerged, standing not a dozen yards away as if he had no cause to fear the two intruders. And he didn’t. This was his home, his domain, his personal realm. Down here, where shadows came alive and virtually every step they took could carry them into a blackened void from which there was literally no escape unless the Boogeyman willed it, the Guardians were rendered powerless.

Down here, Pitch Black was untouchable.

“It was on your behalf that he decided to interfere,” he reminded them. “He must’ve said something really terrible to earn Issitoq’s ire. I feel like I should be insulted.” He pouted, though his golden eyes positively glowed with mirth. “Yet here you are, accusing me of being in the wrong. And you’ve intruded upon my home…that’s three things you’ve done wrong.” He shook his head, clicking his tongue condescendingly as if chiding a pair of children. “You really aren’t leaving me any choice _but_ to file grievance.”

“Go ahead,” Jack retorted boldly. “I’m not scared of you!”

“No,” Pitch replied in a silky murmur. “No, your fear has changed quite a bit in the past few decades. You used to fear not being believed in. But now…”

Jack felt as if his blood turned to ice in his veins. He liked the cold—loved it, in fact—but this was not a pleasant sensation at all. No! He didn’t want Bunnymund to hear this! If any of his friends learned about his newest fear, things would never be the same between them ever again!

To his immense relief, Pitch never finished what he was going to say. Instead of rubbing the frost spirit’s weakness right into his face, the Nightmare King sighed quietly. “Well, that’s enough fun for one night.” He waved his hand dismissively as he turned away, presenting his back to the Guardians. “Fly on home now, little Jack. And take your hopping rabbit with you.”

He disappeared. In spite of his previous rage and fear, Jack was left incredibly confused by the sudden departure.

_That’s it? Why isn’t he putting up more of a fight?_

“Come on,” Bunny said quietly, speaking for the first time since Pitch had revealed himself to them. “Let’s go back.”

The Pooka’s expression was completely unreadable. Jack felt his anger drain into the ground, as if he’d been stuck with a spigot, leaving him uncomfortably numb. He nodded weakly, and they left the Boogeyman’s realm without further incident. Bunnymund was silent as they traveled the tunnel back to the Pole; a part of Jack wondered what he was thinking, but an even greater part didn’t want to find out. He knew the Pooka was furious with him, even if he wasn’t showing it.

They arrived to find North and Tooth waiting anxiously for them, though the latter was still dishing out directions to her fairies. She stopped as soon as Bunny and Jack popped out of the tunnel, turning her full attention to her friends.

“How’d it go?” she inquired. Her gaze flicked between Bunny’s impassive stare and Jack’s guilt-ridden, downcast eyes. A confused frown settled upon her face. “Bunny? Jack?”

“Is Jamie all right?” North pressed.

“Issitoq’s got Eyes on him. We ain’t allowed contact,” the Pooka reported. His voice, like his eyes, was almost stony in its sheer lack of emotion. Jack had to suppress a cringe just from hearing it.

North’s breath hitched. “Pitch filed grievance?”

“Not according to him.”

“You saw him?!” the big man gasped, hardly able to believe it. “Why did you not call? What happened?!”

Bunnymund pierced Jack with a pointed glance, and the frost spirit visibly winced. Two additional pairs of eyes fell upon him at once, putting him in an incredibly uncomfortable spot.

“I…I got really upset,” he murmured, his voice filled with contrition even as he explained what had transpired. “This is _Jamie_ you guys, Jamie: my good friend, the very first human to believe in me. I just…I just wanted to know why Pitch had done it.”

“Oh, Jack,” Tooth Fairy whispered. He wanted to curl up in shame from the disappointment she exuded with those two simple words.

“I’m sorry…”

“Anyway,” Bunny cut in gruffly. “Least we know for sure now that Pitch is up to something. He not only pretended to not know a thing about Jamie, he let us go without lifting a finger.”

North’s bushy brows drew together. “Really?”

“Yeah. Didn’t see a single one of his Nightmares, either, though they’re definitely down there. I heard them talking”

“Do you think he’s planning to attack again?” Tooth inquired of North. The little fairies that lingered over her shoulder huddled close at the very mention of such a thing. Twenty years may have passed since Pitch’s last power grab, but they still remembered clearly how he’d captured them and held them prisoner in the depths of his lair.

The big man patted his belly as he considered Tooth’s question. That was never a good sign.

“He must be lying about what happened to Jamie,” she mused aloud. “Issitoq has never barred a human from contacting us before. For him to do so now… It just doesn’t make sense unless Pitch is behind it.”

“To take such drastic step, Issitoq _must_ have due cause,” North reminded her. He shook his head. “Jamie is innocent. Does not make sense for him to be punished.”

The group fell silent as they all pondered the problem. The Adjudicating Eye, as the spirit of justice and law, was quite literally incapable of taking any unjust action; the very essence of his existence, not to mention his magic, was based upon the very principle of impartiality. So for him to impose such harsh restrictions upon Jamie, there _had_ to be a reason, but the Guardians just couldn’t fathom what their human friend might have done to deserve such punishment.

“Maybe…Pitch did not lie,” North said at last. He sounded a bit choked, as if he could barely force himself to say the words.

“What?!” Bunny cried while the others all gaped at the big man. “You’re joking mate!”

“No,” the Guardian of Wonder said firmly. He shook his head again. “No. I do not jest. Pitch did nothing to Jamie. And he did nothing to Bunny and Jack.” His bright blue eyes were grim. “He is waiting. Waiting until our mistakes catch up to us.”

“Letting our reputation sink, and Issitoq’s ire grow,” Tooth said softly, dawning realization bringing worry and even a touch of fear to her amethyst gaze.

“Either that,” Bunny suggested, his ears pulling tight against his head, “or Issitoq’s part of this too. That would explain why Manny ain’t talkin’ to us.”

Tooth Fairy’s eyes grew enormous. “No!” she gasped. “You don’t think… You’re not suggesting _Issitoq_ gave Cassandra her magic, do you?!”

“He _is_ powerful enough,” Jack offered, speaking for the first time in minutes.

“Impossible!” North barked, making the frost spirit jump. “Issitoq cannot create spirits! It’s against the rules!”

“There’s always a first for everything,” Bunny pointed out. “And it makes sense. It not only explains Manny’s stubborn silence, but also why Pitch is taking his sweet time filing grievances against us and why he let me and Jack go. He’s waiting for Issitoq to do the dirty work for him.”

North would not be swayed. He shook his head over and over again, until his beard swished almost violently back and forth. He insisted, “No! Impossible!”

Almost inevitably, the two of them started bickering. The debate raged on for quite some time, the Guardians standing almost toe-to-toe as they argued and counter-argued. Jack stood back and watched in gloomy silence. He supposed he ought to be grateful Bunny hadn’t made a bigger deal out of what he’d done, but at the same time he almost wished he had, that way they could’ve gotten the condemnation out of the way quickly and Jack could’ve moved on with making amends.

A small hand coming to rest on his shoulder pulled him from his miserable thoughts. Tooth offered him a small, weary smile and gestured for him to follow. He did so, leaving the other two to their squabble.

“They’ll be at it for a while,” she murmured once they were out in the corridor. “Might as well wait until they hash it out, maybe get some work done… Anchorage, sector six, premolar,” she added in a rush to one of her fairies, who chirped in understanding before scooting off. Tooth heaved a sigh. “Never a moment’s peace with this job, that’s for sure.” She glanced at Jack. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Jack said with a grin. He hoped it looked convincing. “Of course.”

She studied him, and Jack could tell she wasn’t convinced at all. He looked away, staring down at his pale feet as they walked.

“Listen,” he said, clutching his staff tight, “I really didn’t mean to make things worse. I just…I don’t know. I don’t know why I always act without thinking.”

“Fun is spontaneous, Jack, you know that better than anyone. It only makes sense for the rest of your nature to mirror your center, doesn’t it?”

When the frost spirit’s despair didn’t lessen, Tooth patiently explained, “Jamie’s been your friend for a long time, Jack. It’s normal to act impulsively when those we love are in danger. Remember when Pitch abducted my fairies?”

He nodded. Of course he remembered; he remembered it like it had happened yesterday, even though it had been more than twenty years ago.

“Remember how I attacked Pitch? I didn’t even have my sword, I just grabbed Bunny’s boomerang. The moment I saw him, so many emotions hit me all at once: anger and rage, indignation, worry for my fairies and even a bit of fear. I didn’t think. I just acted. It was stupid, outright foolish, but I did it anyway, and I almost got eaten by a Nightmare because of it.”

Jack snorted. Eaten? That was a bad joke if ever he’d heard one.

Tooth smiled, pleased that she’d managed to lift Jack’s spirits, if only a little. “We’re not perfect beings Jack, never were and never will be. Remember how Bunny reacted when he was forgotten?” Neither of them was smiling now. “He didn’t even listen to you, he just lashed out. We all did…but him worst of all. We shouldn’t have done that. We should have listened to you and let you explain, but we didn’t. Because of that, we almost lost everything to Pitch.”

She put her hand on his shoulder again, effectively stopping the frost spirit in the middle of the corridor so she could look deep into ice blue eyes. “Because of what you lived through both as a human and as a spirit, you possess an incredible capacity to feel. That isn’t a bad thing, and you should never think of it as being a personal handicap or a detriment to the group. Never,” she reiterated firmly when Jack opened his mouth to voice disagreement. “The four of us were lost, Jack. We’d become so full of ourselves and our duties we’d forgotten what it truly meant to be a Guardian. You were the one who taught us how to relax and have fun, how to love and embrace the children unconditionally. You were the one who got Jamie to believe in us again when all the others had lost their belief. Without you, we would have never defeated Pitch.”

Tooth pressed a finger into his chest to emphasize each point, and Jack could only stand there and stare stupidly as he absorbed everything she said.

“So don’t ever doubt your strength or your ability to help,” she continued, giving him one final poke. “Heck, even your mistake tonight wasn’t nearly as bad as you seem to think. If you hadn’t reacted that way, we wouldn’t have figured out that Pitch is holding back, which means he’s hiding behind someone incredibly powerful. That certainly narrows down the possibilities.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, brightening a little. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Tooth pulled back as she laughed. “Of course I am! I contribute to this group too you know.” She considered the frost spirit for a moment. “Even the Guardian of Fun is allowed to be upset sometimes. Just don’t let it get you down too much, okay? You’re way too hard on yourself, just like Bunny.”

“Bunny?” That feisty Pooka?

“You can’t tell? He’s always so serious about everything, especially Easter, and takes it really, really hard whenever he fails. It isn’t because he’s proud, but because so many lives depend on hope. Without it, children and spirits alike lose the will and desire to believe in better things, to dream of the possibility of a brighter future, or to even care about the present. It’s the thread that binds our whole self together and the fuel that keeps us going, even when things are at their most dire. One way or another, we all need hope in order to thrive, and that puts a great deal of pressure on Bunny. To him, any sort of failure, no matter how minute, is to let everyone down, and he has a really hard time handling that. I see a lot of the same in you too.”

Jack didn’t know what to say in response to that, so he did the smart thing for once and didn’t say anything at all. Things between him and the Pooka had definitely improved over the past couple of decades, but the two of them still clashed quite a bit. He’d always thought it was because they were two very different spirits, but Tooth was saying it was because they were very much the same.

A slight frown touched his mouth as he remembered something from earlier. When he’d tried to apologize to the others for messing things up again, Bunny had cut him off. The reaction had stung and made him think the Pooka didn’t want to hear or accept an apology from him, but maybe…maybe Bunny had actually been trying to help him. Maybe in his own gruff, weird, roundabout way, the older spirit had been trying to tell him that an apology wasn’t necessary and that the others needed to back off.

_Maybe he understands more than I give him credit for._

A grin spread across his pale face. “Thanks Tooth.”

She returned the smile with a warm one of her own.

“Hey mates.”

Tooth and Jack turned in unison to spot none other than Bunnymund, the Guardian of Hope, who’d bounded down the hallway to catch up with them. The frost spirit wondered who’d won the argument, him or North, but the Pooka spoke again before he could ask.

“Come on. Sandy’s back and he’s gotta talk to us.”

“Did he find something?” Tooth asked hopefully.

“If he did, it ain’t good,” he replied grimly.

After sharing a concerned look with the fairy, Jack followed Bunny back to the globe room. Sandy was waiting there with North, and judging from the look on his yellow face, Bunny was right: it was either no news or very bad news.

“What is it?” the frost spirit inquired of the pudgy little man. “Did you find something?”

“Does anyone know what’s going on?” Tooth asked a heartbeat later.

Sandy waited until they were all assembled then delivered his message in carefully arranged symbols.

The Guardians needed to speak directly with Issitoq. Immediately.

Bunny let out a breath. To Jack, it almost sounded like a gasp. “Why? What’s happened, Sandy?”

“Is it grievance?” North asked. Perhaps the Guardian of Memories had received one while he was away.

Sandy shook his head.

“So it’s about Cassandra’s magic, then?” Tooth clarified.

He nodded.

“I knew it,” Bunny grumbled. “I _knew_ Issitoq was part of this.”

“Is impossible for him to create spirits,” North uttered between clenched teeth, as if he’d said it a hundred times before. This answered Jack’s unspoken question clearly: the argument between the two of them hadn’t been resolved in the slightest.

Sandy waved his hand to get their attention then nodded his head to both Bunny and North.

“They’re both right?” Jack guessed.

Sandy shrugged his shoulders as if to say “Wellll…”

“Are we right or ain’t we?” Bunnymund snapped impatiently.

More silent symbols informed him that they had to speak to Issitoq, that Sandy was pretty sure what was going on but didn’t want to make any assumptions.

“Issitoq will at least know what’s going on, even if he’s not involved,” Tooth Fairy pointed out, and Sandy nodded to her in acknowledgement.

“Then we’ll go,” North announced. “When night is over and Tooth and Sandy have finished work, we will leave."

And so, the following morning when their nightly tasks were complete, all five Guardians gathered their courage and made the journey to Ikiaq.

* * *

The past few weeks had been rather peculiar for Cassandra Fisher. So many good things had happened: Carol still hadn’t come back, and it was starting to look like she never would; track season was in full swing, nightly practices and weekly competitions keeping her busy both in body and mind; Easter came and went without one person trying to suck her into a conversation about the stupid Easter Bunny; and the Bennetts were leaving her alone. Such a complete one-eighty should have pleased her, but it didn’t. Instead she found it incredibly suspicious. She could understand why the so-called Guardians were leaving her alone, considering what Mr. Bennett had told her about Pitch Black and the grievances, but for Mr. Bennett to avoid her too just didn’t make any sense. Before he would always smile and wave enthusiastically whenever he saw her, engaging her in pointless conversation just as he did with any other student. And after what he’d said at the deli about it being his responsibility to protect her, Cassandra had expected him and the coach to start hanging all over her like a pair of stalkers.

But Coach Sophie was all business, and now whenever her brother caught sight of Cassandra, his smile would become stiff and he’d quickly scurry off. It had amused her at first; maybe he finally realized just how stupid he’d been to presume he had any right to stick his face into her life. After a while, though, it grew immensely aggravating. Just what the hell was going on now? Why did everything that somehow involved her always happen without her knowledge? She was really getting sick of it.

And so, one day at school, Cassandra walked right up to Mr. Bennett and deliberately engaged him in conversation, just to see what his reaction would be. He was clearly surprised, for she’d never been the one to make initial contact, but he looked incredibly uncomfortable all the same. Then, when she made casual mention of the Easter holiday by asking whether or not he’d enjoyed it, his face turned white. Eyes flicked back and forth guiltily, as if he feared getting caught doing something wrong, and after making some poor excuse to get away he practically fled from her. Another teacher who happened to be passing by stared after him before fixing Cassandra with a look that seemed to ask ‘What the hell did you say to him?’

Completely ignoring both the unspoken question and the woman who’d presented it, Cassandra concentrated on Mr. Bennett’s retreating back and summoned her shadow magic. This was the first time she’d ever used it in such a public place, but there were no kids around right now and the odds of that woman teacher being a believer were slim to none. Besides, she had to know for sure…

Yes. Mr. Bennett was scared all right. He was scared of losing his belief in the Guardians.

A puzzled frown touched her mouth. Why would he be afraid of such a thing? Unless he got hit in the head or something and suffered amnesia, he wouldn’t just up and forget the Guardians after believing in them for so long. It was stupid of him to fear something like that so greatly.

Unless…

“Did you do something to Mr. Bennett?”

Pitch Black’s sigh was long and weary, if a bit heavy on the over exaggeration. “Why does everyone seem to think I’m the one responsible for that brat’s predicament? I lost interest in him ages ago.”

“I heard he foiled your last plot to overthrow the Guardians.”

“Yes, well, he’s certainly getting his comeuppance for interfering, now, isn’t he?”

“So you _did_ do something.”

Pitch rolled his eyes. He no longer had care enough to fool around, and simply sounded annoyed. “Please. I told you no one is allowed to interfere in this…plot. Such a rule doesn’t stop with Moon; it extends to virtually any spirit or human who seeks to influence you.”

Ah. That made sense. The conversation between her and the Bennetts at the deli had happened weeks ago, but it was definitely around the time they’d started acting weird.

“So they’re being punished because they tried to make me think the Guardians were better than you?”

Pitch said nothing. He watched with a cunning smirk as she tried to piece together what was going on.

“If no one’s supposed to influence me, then that means my opinion is important here, doesn’t it? Whatever’s going on is strictly between you and the Guardians and I’m…somehow…a referee?”

He threw back his head and laughed. He laughed and laughed until Cassandra’s face burned with humiliation.

“Stop mocking me!” she shouted over the echoes of his ceaseless mirth. “If no one’s going to tell me anything, I don’t have any choice but to guess!”

“Oh my dear girl,” he chortled as he finally calmed down, “so close and yet so far.”

“The hell does that mean?”

“Can’t tell you,” he replied, earning himself a growl of frustration from the human girl. “Out of curiosity, what exactly did that big brat say about me?”

Now it was Cassandra’s turn to smirk. “I thought you said you’d lost interest in him.”

His response came smoothly and easily, as if the pointed jab hadn’t bothered him in the slightest. “I did, but that doesn’t mean I’m not curious to know what he said. It was bad enough to earn Issitoq’s ire, after all.”

She shrugged. “It wasn’t all that bad, really. Just some crap about you being evil and how you’re probably going to kill me.”

One dark brow rose. “You don’t sound overly concerned.”

“You said yourself that you don’t hurt children.”

“No,” he admitted, though his golden eyes had begun to narrow as a dark smile slowly spread across his face. “But if I were to ever make an exception, it would be for you.”

Some dark, sinister feeling crept over Cassandra Fisher. She wasn’t entirely sure what it was, but it was something between apprehension and foreboding. Keeping her expression carefully impassive, she inquired, “What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing much,” he replied. He was using that oily car salesman voice again, which was never a good sign. “Tell me, have your powers changed as of late?”

If he was going to be evasive, then so was she. “Perhaps.” 

He smiled, enjoying her obstinacy. “Tell me about it.”

“Tell me something I want to know first.”

“This game again,” he sighed, referring to the give-and-take arrangement they’d made the first night they met.

“If that’s what it takes to get answers out of you, so be it.”

He heaved another sigh, but that dumb smile was still plastered on his face, betraying his amusement. “I can tell you that you’re right about one thing: this matter strictly involves yourself, the Guardians, and me.”

“So the referee part was wrong,” she deduced. He chuckled deep in his chest, earning him a glare.

“My powers have changed a little,” she acknowledged on a growl.

“How so?”

“Are you ever going to take the cloak back?”

“If I get my way I won’t have to.”

The hell did that mean?

“Well?” he prompted. He wanted her to answer his previous question.

“My shadow magic is a bit stronger.”

Pitch smiled hugely. “Good.”

Good?

“Your frost power is stronger too, isn’t it?” he continued gleefully. “Don’t try to deny it. I saw that display the other night. It was rather impressive, I must say, although I do find it a bit odd you chose to attack me using ice and snow when you clearly said you much preferred the shadows.”

It hadn’t occurred to her before, but what Pitch was saying was true. Why hadn’t she used her shadow magic? Down here in the dark, it would certainly have been the most powerful of her gifts, and she was getting quite good at shaping things out of black nightmare sand, so why had she instinctively reached for her frost instead?

“This is wonderful,” Pitch uttered, immensely self-satisfied. “You know, I’ve always said nothing goes together better than cold and dark.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve got a soft spot for that twiggy brat Jack Frost.”

He snorted. “As if.”

The words were spoken casually enough, but Cassandra saw the shadow of a scowl play across the corners of his mouth.So Pitch and Frost had some sort of history, eh?

_How interesting._

“When this is all over,” she asked the Boogeyman, “can you take that stupid cloak back? It’s really creepy and gross, honestly.”

She’d never gotten a clear answer from him about that. After accidentally discovering Pitch’s greatest fear, Cassandra had scurried back to the duplex, wholly unwilling to stick around and find out what the Nightmare King’s reaction would be once the shock of her discovery had worn off. In the following weeks, she’d lived under the assumption that he would eventually turn up to punish her for her audacity. Or, at the very least, that he would seek some sort of petty retribution for his wounded pride. But she didn’t hear a single peep from the Boogeyman for a long time, and after a while she figured he was probably pouting and ignoring her, like a child. Determined to put a stop to that, she came down to the depths tonight only to discover Pitch in much the same disposition as he always was.

Did he not care that she’d uncovered what was likely a tremendous weakness? Or was he only pretending not to care?

She strongly suspected the latter.

Movement in her peripheral vision caught Cassandra’s attention. Glancing around, she warily eyed the shifting silhouettes of Pitch’s Nightmares. Before tonight she hadn’t known Pitch to possess any mares except for Onyx, but now there were dozens of them lurking about. Their presence was doing a real ringer on her: not only were her eyes and ears straining to catch every twitch and snort and whicker, but her magic was also tremendously overwhelmed. It swelled up inside of her, threatened to burst out completely unbidden, like water from an overburdened dam, yet seemed oddly determined to tear her in two. On the one hand, her shadow magic was eager to greet those collected mares and kept trying to reach out with shadows to touch and caress them; on the other, the rest of her magic was practically screaming at her to run, run away quickly, she was in great danger.

It was weird.

Instead of answering her question, Pitch glanced in the direction she was staring and posed a question of his own. “Magnificent, aren’t they?”

“Why do you have so many?”

He shrugged. “I used to have thousands, but the Guardians decimated them and turned the few that remained against me. I had to remind them who was in charge.”

He glared at the Nightmares, golden eyes flashing with displeasure. Cassandra saw one of the closest mares flinch after accidentally meeting that angry stare.

“Anyway,” Pitch sniffed, “this group is simply pathetic compared to the horde I used to possess. It’s taken time to rebuild thanks to those wretched spirits and their _fun_.”

He said the word on a hiss, as if it tasted absolutely foul. If she remembered correctly, Mr. Bennett said Jack Frost was the Guardian of Fun. Which meant Frost was the primary cause of Pitch’s last defeat—and destruction of his Nightmare horde—didn’t it?

_That’s definitely something to keep in mind._

But wait…if Frost was the reason he was so weak right now then why did he appreciate her frost powers? And why was he _happy_ that frost was her second greatest magical ability?

He just didn’t make sense sometimes.

Redirecting the conversation back to the original topic, Cassandra asked for the third time, “So will you take it back or not?”

To which he simply repeated, “If all goes well, I won’t have to.”

She frowned, confused. “Why not?”

“It’ll simply become a moot point.”

“But I thought the agreement stands until you agree to dissolve it and take back the cloak.”

“It will.”

“Then how can it just suddenly become irrelevant?”

He smiled down at her and said nothing.

“Something else you can’t tell me?” There was an awful lot he couldn’t say as of late. It was growing increasingly frustrating, not to mention annoying.

A long tendril of black nightmare sand appeared from the gloom and streamed towards them, interrupting the increasingly one-sided conversation. It swiftly converged into a solid Nightmare that screamed its report, making Cassandra’s ears ring painfully.

“So,” Pitch purred. “They’ve gone to Ikiaq.”

“Where?”

He looked at her, and his smile was positively cunning. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll be finding out soon enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> Additional tags/warnings for this fic: possession, major character death, permanent loss of belief, spirit(s) attack a child (no serious injury to or death of said child occurs though).


End file.
